Silence Made You Leave
I walked away, my head forced high,
and big, bloodied chunks torn from my pride.
I mourned the loss of that half-built life,
denied the role of mother, of wife.
And all those years, advancing time,
dissolved that little dream of mine.
And it's clear: not even fatherhood
has changed you like I thought it would.
You had your turn; you walked away,
but still you're lying, still you stay.
So you observe, without reprieve,
and I thought silence made you leave.
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