The Break-In
They came at night,
no warning, no sound,
just splintered wood
and footprints on the ground.
They took the telly,
they took the spare change,
a drawer of junk,
nothing strange.
But then
they found the box I’d hid
beneath her scarves,
beneath the lid
the only thing
she left to me
before she slipped
so silently.
My mother’s ring.
Her wedding gold.
Still warm with stories
never told.
She gave it me
with trembling hand,
no voice to speak,
no last command.
Now it’s gone,
those greedy thieves,
who’ll never know
how a daughter grieves.
May what they touch
turn bitter fast,
may nothing stolen
ever last.
Let their hands
feel cold at night,
let sleep desert them
out of spite.
Rest in peace Mum
About the Creator
♿ V+ Marie381Uk
Poetry has lived in me since childhood.
Ink spills the feelings words fear to say.
My poems heal, some haunt, all are pieces of me.
Stay and read please. Like&follow me. If my poetry touches your ♥️ maybe leave a small tip
#Marie381UkWrites
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.