I hear her screams.
Oh so loud.
They haunt my dreams.
As a child
I never knew her;
I was too young.
I never knew her,
Only her bloated tongue.
She died before I reached the age of nine
Of an illness borne.
An illness that said would soon be mine.
Such was their reasoning for their scorn.
Yet I did not die as they had forseen,
Much to their chagrin.
Not even a touch of green or ruptured spleen;
Immune was I to their mortal sin.
Now I sit alone within my house,
Inherited from my kin.
Alone am I without a spouse
Or child that might have been.
I watched them all fade away,
Dropping one by one.
Happened in a variety of ways
The way it was done.
A poisoning here, a duel there,
From one hired on the street,
One hung herself from the stair,
The other choked upon a treat.
All tragic for sure,
Accidents and mishaps so befallen,
For what they did to my mother and her screams.
This is for a dVerse prompt: Choose any of the three paintings and compose a poem of 31 lines or fewer. I chose the picture above as the inspiration for my poem. I hope you enjoy.
