What Are You Doing?

What are you doing to me, my son,
what are you doing, what have you done?
I’m sure you didn’t intend at the start
to break my spirit, break my heart.
To waste your life the way you’ve done,
the life I struggled to give you, son.
Which do I talk to, whom do I mean?
Why either of them, from what I’ve seen.

It’s a tragedy to lose a son,
or so they tell me. At least it’s done.
This daily heartache, this daily pain
goes on too long, again and again.
It’s more than a mother can contemplate.
Was this really always their fate?
They walk in their father’s shoes, it seems,
echo his values, follow his dreams.

To see the way they’ve treated their wives,
to see them living criminal lives,
incarcerated for years and years -
theirs the punishment; mine the tears.
I have no answers, I have no hope.
It’s gone too far, I’ve run out of rope.
Perhaps when I’m dead, when my race is run,
they’ll stop and consider the things they’ve done.


© CS 2015


A Mother's Prayer

My boys, my boys, my lovely boys,
so innocent and sweet,
their whole lives ahead of them,
the world lay at their feet.

All I can do is weep for them,
weep for them and pray:
Oh god take these my copious tears
and use them in some way

to heal their bodies and their minds,
refresh their tainted souls.
May they know once more what life
was like with purer goals.

These tears are now my sacrifice,
they’re all I have to give
to do what nothing else can do
as long as I shall live.

© CS 08/2015