Stoic

My empty hands are folded,
they covet something lost.
all hidden like a bracelet,
they're not seen -- only tossed.

Her heart is so heavy.
As she wakes up by day.
She sees me standing amply,
praying to find that way.

I am a little child,
a boy of five age old,
my mother is a style,
a fashion quite gone sold.

She is that widow woman,
shes that sulking dear held high.

She is that widow woman,
that terrible mis used thing,
the woman amply abusing,
all and everything.

I am her little child,
of something five age old,
my mothers something different,
thats why now i'm so cold.

I am a little boy,
an age of twenty one,
now old and in toil,
put up and now hung.

Lifeless entities tend to hear,
The sadness, the sighs,
the stoic general tears.

The Broken sceneral years.
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*I really need help on this.

*I'm entering this into a contest over seas w/a family member...please tell me what I need to do to fix it.

*It does suck...but...help me out

*Thanks so much.