The Wound from My Womb.

I tried writing a sonnet so . . . here ya go I think I got the rhyme scheme right, but I'm not sure about the organization.

I danced into the room, sullen and bright
Teary faces, painted red and white
A bawling mother stumbled by the door
Holding up a toast, to a son, so contrite
Black-blue gloves shrivelling in the light:

O bashful pale offspring o' my flesh,
Had you had to posess, a wound so deep
A wound so deep, it sank into my chest?

Shake, hand, bawl wine-tears; her drunk might
Sway in the sullen lights; dancing her night
Away, with me, painting her face red
Leaving son, tears, gloves, fragile head
Aside; Mother, where had you went?
Mind afar, soaked with grief, O with bright-