The Unborn

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

The Unborn.

Yours was a precipitated birth.

Poor soul, birthed into the hands of death.

Yanked you were from your cosy shelter,

By hands that craved the touch of silver.

Then there you were, so frail and tiny,

Tender flame blown off in a hurry.

Your big black eyes, your alien features

Print into the mind eternal pictures

Of one so young denied a share

To live, grow and enjoy our sphere

By ungodly acts all born of fear.

Your hurting mother looks away.

She dares not look, she loathes this day.

She dries her tears, she is in pains,

Forever trapped in mental chains.

Your father too, not far away,

Waits in dismay, what can he say?

With no coins to back his claim,

The fatherhood would sure be lame.

Someone in white opens the door.

He’s done this deed ten times a score!

On the Devil’s mine a seasoned mind,

He had this task to him assigned.

He smiles and says “you’ll be okay,

Just take these drugs three times a day”.

His purse is full, you’ve joined the slew

Of wailing souls he’s yanked out too.

Where be your voice? Where be their shame?

Your life to them was but a game.

They’ve dealt you now this mortal blow,

Your dreams, your hopes no one will know.

Submitted: October 20, 2020

© Copyright 2020 Karl2020. All rights reserved.

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