The Woman Whose Only Sin was Motherhood

She was the quintessential Renaissance woman,

A flourished mutation of success,

For she flew in the skies without recess,

She, the concentrated speech of motivational-ists,

She, the uncompromised sermon of evangelists,

She, the assertive cheer of conservationists,

An embodiment of spiritual maturity,

Manifested in worldly sovereignty,

As if such rarity was too bodacious,

Her looks a reflection in the mirror of Aphrodite,

If Beauty was a law Gracefulness was her right,

Alas, she lent her vocals to the dirge, “no one is perfect”,

On the commandments of parenthood,

Her sin was motherhood,

For she was a waste bin of bad decisions,

Blinded by career,

Her kids wallowed in fear,

Fear that mother never loved them,

Fear that mother would never be there for them,

Choked by insecurity,

Walls were erected,

Not wanting her children to be infected,

With the virus of her lack of affection,

Stemming from a genetic selection,

For before she sang her parents played the instruments,

The piano of a perfectionist syndrome,

The saxophone of parental abandonment,

The violin of emotional neglect,

The drums to mental and physical abuse,

For before she sinned her parents sinned,

Now before she wins her new father must win,

Oh, please some tell her the blood of victory was shed,

In the abode of righteousness is her bed,

The woman whose only sin was motherhood.