A short poem about child abuse/shaken baby syndrome, inspired by Concrete Angel by Martina McBride.


life shaken out of a child,
gone with his last breath,
he lies cold on the floor
as birth gives way to death.

when his mother came in,
she barely made it through the door
when she saw her angel
lying dead on the kitchen floor.

her hands framed his face,
delicately, feeling for a beat,
finding nothing but a body,
she felt her hands retreat.

and now, as we sit among his grave,
and bask in the sun's tender loving beams,
if you listen closely on the wind,
you can just barely hear his screams.


?


Submitted: April 27, 2010

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Graeme Montrose

A sorrowful tale that hits the heart hard and alas shows the horrors of this society we live in where so much of this can go on!
They beholds his face, it is said of babies that they see the face of their angel! One cay pray that it be so!

Tue, April 27th, 2010 2:19pm

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Reply

thank you, you've captured exactly what I meant this poem to be. :-)

Mon, May 17th, 2010 10:32am

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