Twilight is when, you can see my mother cry
Tired eyes and tired smiles,
She would never give way to tears.

Her fatigue wears me down too, and heavily
We sit, our shoulders arched and eager
For we must not give way to tears

You wouldn’t notice it, most do not.
If not convinced by our twitchy smiles,
You would at least be confused.

Of course my mother is of metal,
And I of mere chalk
For how gently I could break into madness

I lay every night, cogitating
Of my mother’s steady hand
Guiding my trembling legs

I lay every night, ruminating
I couldn’t face the things she faces
I couldn’t come out alive

I hope time fashions me into
The towering figure my mother is
For I cannot fathom life otherwise.

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