by the door.

The boy’s still waiting by the door

is this my cross or my own war?

Our mother rests my weary soul

soothes the aching, God-shaped hole.

With a joyful heart I’ve learnt to bear

the pain I was always meant to share

Even through mind-bending lies

“Non Io, ma Dio!” my heart still cries

Even as I see the light

and to my blindness He’s given sight

to where I was wrong, how I was right

I still dream of her in white.