Behold her eyes burning through tears.
In place of him is now his gun.
Her heart sinks whatever comes near,
for she has lost her son.
Along she works for everyone,
who’s fatherless like her grandson.
She takes nothing but gives and gives.
And cares for everything that’s his.
No wonder none’s as proud as she.
But also bears the ache in heart.
It’s almost fine but it’s no glee.
She is wrecked from the start.
The battlefield that snatched her son.
Remembers every scar and burn.
Smiles when the son of her son asks
to give up his life with no masks.
She lets him go, lets him go too.
She stares at his back as he leaves.
Falls with weakness, everything’s blue.
Lost everything but grieves.
Her hair goes gray, the tale gets old.
Grandson’s gone too, that’s left is cold.
She thinks back to the choice she made.
She’d thought wrong of it being an aid.
But life goes on and then death comes.
The peaceful sleep goes on and on.
No hurt, no pain, no thunder drums.
Every lament is gone.
She’s in the grave and so the men.
She’s proud of them and smiles again.
A soldier son is no regret.
She’s a proud mother with no’one left.
Can I please get some critique? Tell me what I’m doing wrong…?