In the shadows of a mother’s love,
Lies a darkness, cold and deep;
Where nurturing hands turn to stone,
And tender whispers cease to speak.
The cradle once a haven warm,
Now a prison of silent tears;
Love that should have shielded us,
Transforms into our deepest fears.
Eyes that once shone bright and kind,
Are now mirrors of disdain;
The embrace we longed to feel,
Is replaced by a distant pain.
Yet from this void we rise anew,
Seeking solace where we can;
Our spirits forged in fires cold,
We become our own guiding hand.