In shadows cast by nurturing hands,
Lies a tale often untold,
Of mothers whose love is laced with thorns,
A story both dark and cold.
In voices raised in anger’s might,
And eyes that never see,
The child who yearns for tender light,
Is left to silently plea.
A heart once pure, now stained with fear,
By words that cut and sting,
The love that should have been a shield,
Becomes a venomous thing.
Yet in the night, with wistful sighs,
The child dreams of breaking free,
From the chains of a mother’s lies,
To find who theyâre meant to be.