A Mother's Wrath (A Ghost Story)
by Michael Doyle

For her, forever started in 1673
With what once was a happy family
A child was left alone wandering
With love disturbed and ,wondering

For three hundred years
Lost inside a veil of tears
There is no safety in numbers
That can shield us in our slumbers

Sorrow becomes anger that cannot end
These are the cries that the dead send
Candlelight is the third eye's passageway
The children will know no safety today

She reaches out, ending all harm to the child
Whose innocence has been cruelly defiled
The evil eye knows and sees it all
And this ghost from yesterday will come to call

Yesterday, a father violently died
His widow was left behind and cried
Wishing she could hold onto yesterday
Bittersweet with nightmares that won't go away

From the mirror, a ghost appears and is seen
Silently shrieking, forming a scream from her inner being
As a child's life is destroyed and torn apart
There is no safety for those holding a drowned heart

A mom is heard through her enraged weeping
In the centuries, kept without really keeping
Veiled death has destroyed all sense of trust
By a chilling ghost who could not turn into dust

No vapid reasons can bring her again to care
Not in the mystery-shrouded from the family's care
What remains is the evil of a woman scorned
This is a tale of old, repeated, and cast forward

A girl is lured to the edge of an uncovered pool
As if she didn't learn the respected rules
That the crying woman will bring certain death
From her guilt and rage that take one's breath

It seems that angry people have a need to talk
That is more pervasive than their hungry walk
Curdled in drying blood and ghastly photographs
These and she tell the tale of death as Satan laughs

Upward evil creeps until it is knocking on the attic door
While outside is thunder as the rain pours and pours
Old houses whisper history as they know their creaks
While the voice of evil grins as it speaks

It's hard to imagine how a mother truly feels
And how the sting of the ghost's tears reveal
The truth of the pain that runs far too deep
This is seen when the spirit of the crying woman weeps

Crying won't help you and crying won't do you no good
This is the creep of certain death as it is understood
Knock, knock on the next victim's unopened door
And every mother still alive, quietly implores

Asking that the ghost of the crying woman not to kill
Through her love of drowning innocence unconcealed
Suddenly again, the struggle ensues; mother against mother
And only one will win; love or anger; one or the other

This is not to be spoken with a sense of grave pessimism
The answer comes to rest in a shaman's passage of exorcism
To see what evil does is to stare straight into evil's face
And must be fought against, hoping to keep within God's embrace

In ancient ritual, eggs are broken to gain evil's confession
The greater the blood inside, the greater will be the concession
That evil has seeped into this living, loving home
And must fought against together with God's grace, never alone

When evil comes out of the shadows to openly conspire
The best tools to fight with are those of spiritual fire
The shaman joins with the family to fight this good fight
Who knows whose victory will come on this cursed night?

(c) October 21, 2023   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved