Elegy for little angels flown to heaven
Alas, the bereaved mothers, the poor mommies
Who see only mummies of their sons in nightmarish slumber
Left behind hugging dreary stony tombstones
While hearts harder than sepulchres
are the assasins
with no pity for those in their prime.
Loved ones lost to an unseen netherworld before their time
Killed in atrocious senseless crime
All the nurturing care and motherhood tossed to the winds
Maternal hearts bereaved until their own demise
Moving on easier suggested than done.
Their only hope and consolation
A hereafter family reunion.
Their current recurrent haunts are sepulchres
instead of their kids playgrounds.
But they were loved, these little souls
Who rest in peace in catacombs
Yet their souls have soared to the heavens.