She is celebrated and honoured by those she has borne,
those she has taken under her wing,
and the ones who chose her;
revered as the source of life and love.
She has been forgotten,
brushed aside by those she has nurtured;
her value diminished,
in the busyness and priorities of life.
She loves fiercely and defends ferociously,
formidable and vulnerable;
her greatest love is her deepest sorrow,
yet the reason for her being.
She exists by moniker only,
a fictitious being longed-for;
conceived in the brokenness,
of the hearts she was unable to love.
She is an echo of her former self,
her mind long since departed;
the memory of her fulness,
treasured in the hearts she has forgotten.
She lives in the legacy of those she has loved,
their broken hearts bound by her essence;
cherished memories behind every smile,
colouring every wayward tear.
She mourns the child lost and forgotten by others,
her grief ever present yet hidden;
found in the rubble of broken dreams,
reignited with every milestone missed.
She weeps for a child never born,
the deepest longing of her heart;
if only love were enough,
to bring life into being.
She is as fearful as she is courageous,
as whole as she is broken;
fierce yet gentle,
and as unyielding as she is pliable.
She is fairy tale and fact, flawless and at fault,
a desire, a dream, an impossibility, an enigma,
an extraordinary force within an ordinary soul;
She is the Mother Heart.