She groans from within.

As she yells for a win,

Her cries echo from within,

As they translate into a sad tale of an African queen.

I hear the tale even when she doesn’t talk.

Anger overflows from her heart and leaves it harder than a rock.

It’s damn serious, it’s no joke.

Her story is a story of a wounded heart.

The story has been unfolding and it has now reached its saddest part.

The part where it leaves her heart with a hollow,

Drowning her in the deepest depths of sorrow,

As she continuously hopes for a better tomorrow.

Especially for the girl and the young fellow,

Will they ever know the love of a father?

Or maybe that role has to be played by another.

Because all the man does is abuse their mother.

His re-union attempts push her much farther.

I see a flood-tide in her glimmering eyes as her tears gather.

Is this the fate of a victorious single mother?

I’m faced with the disturbing question as I wish her peace and joy.

Not for her alone but as well as for the girl and the boy.

I really long for that moment,

When she can be freed from the agonizing torment,

Sometimes I feel like it’s not my place to comment,

But why would some idiot worsen it by trying to take advantage of her predicament?

Afraid of failing her, I avoid promising her that it’s going to be okay.

The best I can do for her is pray.

“Be with her Lord,” that’s what I constantly say.

May your sun shine on her so she can make her hay?

So that her horses of happiness can have enough for each day,

That’s all I can say, lest I overlap my boundaries and sway.

I believe that love and joy will meet with her one day.

I might not be there to see it but I really long for that day.

MORSET BILLIE