Days later, the well-respected man stood at the front door
his silk suit and tie graced the floor:
his sly smile had fooled my mother's lore.
"Lawyers are for the people; they argue each case,"
her candid remarks never stood to date,
he never held frankness,
only deceitfulness:
his mendacious intentions had tricked her charitable weakness.
I never trusted the man's charm
where he greeted the weak, long and far,
a widow to an older man,
She just wanted a lover at hand.
He joked and she giggled
my body trembled;
where one day, he had misused her amiable trust,
and had left her crumpled like a wilted husk.
I had just returned home,
My mother had lain on her bedroom floor,
crying, bleeding, painfully screaming,
red cheeks and hot tears, steaming.
He had stolen her naivety, her pureness,
one that so many men unveiled through disgracefulness --
I helped her stand, head tall and upright,
and we marched to Pastor Light!
The reckoning shall persecute his mane,
Black sheep unmasked the game,
where my mother was assaulted,
by a well-respected man whose lies were proudly exalted.
His smile distorted, the truth contorted,
one whom the village supported.