* *
It's profoundly heavy and truly worse
than physical pain that requires a nurse.
The wound's far deeper than a break or cut;
twisting and turning over in my gut.
Sleep escapes me, food's no tempting allure,
conventional medicines cannot cure.
The pain is steady, will not go away,
Not physical, but
internal decay.
"I hate you's" perfect a razor's quick slit;
In spirit I take a sickening hit.
Demons confidently roar loud and scream,
"This is REAL Mom and Dad, it's NOT a dream".
My God loves our son so much more than I.
Just knowing that comforts me when I cry.
His love is on a magnificent scale,
Consuming love this great can never fail.
Hell, you know there's coming a Mother's War,
My son's salvation I will fight you for.
You will
never win for he's God's own son,
Through Jesus' Precious Blood, the Lamb has won.
Sooooooo,
bring it on Satan, you'll clearly see,
Just what one Mother's Love through Christ can be.
You cannot
ever have him even now,
Behold ! My prayers have become my vow.
They're hopeless to stop or ever destroy,
'Cause he's always and
STILL my little boy.
* * 
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