The Tenth of December

An Italian Sonnet

Oh, remorse on the Tenth of December --

Discovery of a young girl who weeps.

In the bright and blistering darkness keeps,

A repeated justice to remember.

For the woman lacked the will and power,

To conquer her own suffocating heaps,

Of mentally eating demons and creeps,

Who rips hearts with flames that turn to ember.

Years of created pain and suffering,

Which will -- perhaps -- never completely heal.

Oh! Agony on this day of the birth,

Of a mother who died while crumbling.

Every Tenth of December is a steel,

Where cuts through the progeny leave less worth.