Scared. So scared; it feels good to be scared.
I saw your tiny fingers rushing through your mother's womb.
I cradled you, but you were lifeless. Then.
Your blood soaked eyes did not see what it was born into.
I closed mine.
I put this on your grave marker:
'Beloved son, my angel. You were loved.'
I placed a wreath on you, as I dropped a flower on your mother's.
2 comments:
How did you think of this topic?? Damn. Awesome. Hail the Hamsini.
Each time I open this blog to post something new, my mind switches to something dark and grimy...
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