Wednesday, 31 March 2010
Dead Babies On the Shore
Any society that treats the unborn as meat, is a society that will treat the living as slaves.
And in the ebb of passion,
When that wet, sticky tide abates,
Breathless in its broken couplets,
And crashes into silence,
Upon bed sheets crumpled,
And slimy with the sweat of regrets,
New journeys begin, within,
And lead lost souls to dark haunts.
And there upon the shore,
Glistening, pale and wet,
The dead body of a baby,
The flotsam of a failed affair,
Whose lips had never drawn a breath,
Unborn upon a hospital bed,
Cradled in a bucket, not a mothers arms,
Then cast upon the waters,
Casual as a lovers kiss,
Or a snowflake into the sea.