Dark ravens rise in mocking flight as snarls do hiss and serpents coil.  There is no babe in comfort held.  All lies are truth and truth are lies.  The cries of old in silence held.  A mother’s arms no longer are.  A babe in life now twists in death – the hope all gone… no breath to see… cold stillness of pain surpassed … tomorrows to never be.

The naked womb in haunted shame, echoes cries of tortured screams.  How often did the baby plead for a mother’s arms to stop the deed and simply give a chance to be?

Did she know?… did she care?… was there a moment she thought to dare and give a chance for this little life to be?

Or… did the lies rise up to snare still another doubting soul in guise of right and righteousness that is not so and few do see?

A right that makes it good to take a little life in glee breeds serpents tongues and crickets shame to sing upon the world of he and all that be.

A tiny soul in limbo rests while memories haunt and deeds devour the inhumane of selfish ways whose dark voices cry in thought of only “me” and “my” and “I”.

There is no rest for tortured ones as they desperately do wander in search… always in search… of what they can not find… nor ever shall, you see.  For it was a tiny soul clinging to a cold womb who held the light and sparked the fire of what we call humanity.

Copyrighted ©Carrie K. Hutchens 2013 – All Rights Reserved