Her womb once filled with tender dreams,
now holds a weight, she could not redeem.
A fragile, broken soul, new to the world,
fell from her hands, devoid of a scream.
Red ink drapes over the walls of hope,
echoing no struggle, no fight to cope.
The cradle lies empty, no words to say,
a silver spoon tilts, with new toys at play.
Paper cranes line the bedroom floor,
curtains brush the sun-warmed chair.
Fractured remnants scattered across,
no excuse to hide, the invisible snare.
When pain recalls, the world stands still,
a mother lost in the aftermath of her will.
The lamp bore witness, a forbidden crime,
too hard to return or blame the time.