Sunday, February 2, 2014

Another Poem, "Mirage"

by Betty Baker Bailey

Deep in my heart there is an ache
That cuts clear to the bone
It comes from hearing children cry
While dying all alone.

I cannot stop the tears that flow.
Nor soothe my wounded heart.
I feel the loss of every one
Gone missing since the start.

They’ll never run or skip or jump.
They’ll never see the sea.
They just fill up the city dump
And bring me to my knees.

These lives that some consider not
To me are treasures lost.
For who can know what one is worth
When in the can one's tossed.

Oh, how I long to hold each one
In motherly embrace;
To gently nurture and caress;
What some consider waste.

Some have said this makes me mean –
To want the children saved.
I ask them to discern between
The caring and depraved.

For those who have the bloody hand
That does the deadly deed,
They are the ones who strike the blow
Based purely upon greed.

It is not wrong to love the child
Nor for its life to plead.
But wrong it is to take such lives
And on their deaths to feed.

To speak, perchance to reach a heart
Bent upon destruction
Is such a noble, worthy cause
As to deserve sanction.

Yet, lies abound ‘bout what we do;
How deeply goes our wound.
For if the truth was ever out
Their profit would be doomed.

The little ones within the womb
Are pawns amidst their game,
Of pow’r and wealth and deadly “health”;
Of ghoulish, fiendish fame.

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