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.