Thought of The Unborn

Slender ivory limbs glisten

Amid the warm velvet softness that

Once surrounded the instrument of my father’s passion.

 

Glints of light are reflecting from

Cold, stiff, stainless, steel surgical tools,

Once held in the firm grip of he who meanly wrought my death.

 

My blood has mingled here with hers,

Staining the harsh hands of the executioner,

As this unrelenting memory now stains my mother’s mind.

 

No comfort to one another,

No solace to be found within the other’s arms;

A lonely wail is all that is left to she I might have loved.

 

I wonder, have I been relieved

Of the imposition of an existential dilemma,

Or have I been most expertly robbed of uniquely earth-bound joy?

 

Note to Little One:

Never, did I mean to witness your murder, Little One. I only desired to support your cause. And so I clicked. And there you were. At least, there were the parts of you that were left behind to eventually become dust. I admit to being stunned in your presence. I could not decide which would be the more insulting to you: For me to quickly turn from the horrific scene of your death, curtly dismissing it from my mind, or for me to remain and to stare, wide-eyed and appalled at our lack of love… And then I knew, I would give you a voice.

©L.L. Shelton, 2011

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