My mother was a complex woman, a force of nature hiding demons few saw.
Mama lived with demons others didn't see.
She would not recognize them, ignored their existence.
Until they rose up in darkness, from her dreams to sit beside her,
feeding her desperate need for denial.
Feelings, emotions, her essence passing through coal-black holes
where their hearts should have been.
Battle to battle she drew on her strength, forcing them back into the folds.
Willing her mouth to smile, she could not convince her eyes.
Her upturned lips like a jack-o-lantern's,
candle shining from an empty soul, while her spirit regrouped
A warrior alone, for few could tell the difference.
life's ebb and flow the battleground.
She built the walls to keep them in, not others out.
But bastards they were, and served dual masters.
To let them down meant sure defeat, and her warrior's heart could not bear the thought.
So up they stood, battleships on the ground, guns ready to engage within or without.
And she cried inside,
inconsolable in the vacuum.