NOTE - This is a METAPHOR. Please do not contact Child Protective Services.
The Second Undertaking
The splintered, damp grain of the wood,
Can’t chafe my lifeless palm.
There’s really no reason now that it should,
For I’m at a dead calm.
I’ve misplaced the little baby, it seems,
The baby I beat and bled.
I’ve misplaced her whole little body,
So I can pretend she’s not dead.
It pained me to look at her puffed, ruddy face,
That bleat and whined and mocked,
And never ceased her calling and plaiting
No matter how sweetly I rocked.
So I did the only thing I could,
I slit her little throat.
And watched the blood pool where I stood,
While through my shoes it soaked.
Her weeping stopped finally and all at once
I felt my own stab of regret.
What will I do without the baby?
How can I ever forget?
For though her taunting and persistent presence
Kept me from any content,
I feel now she’s gone, a crater lies there
Deep in my heart’s lament.
I never realized the comfort she gave,
The solace, the cheer, the ease.
Her gone marks a mighty crime,
A merciful God won’t appease.
So seared I sit hidden ‘hind my door,
My palm raking over the wood,
Never the other side to see anymore,
A life I can’t live but she should.
Cause I’ve misplaced the baby again, you see
I’ve strangled her with a noose of rope,
I smothered and pinched and killed the babe,
The tiny little birth of Hope.
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Topic: The Second Undertaking (Read 270 times)