Author Information
Death of an unborn child
I am a child yet to be born
I can hear the screams and the scorns
Words are yearning to come out of me
Yet I have no way to speak or cry
I feel so tired and so cold
Confined within the walls of a womb
I want my story to be heard
Yet none can see and no one hear
I head him scream and he growled
I am not meant to be born
It all ends with a punch
Right through my gratuitous head
I heard them arguing late last night
They would take me far away tonight
To a church way down the tracks
Where the piece of the morning is torn
From the cracks of its empty walls
It hangs now upon the walls of a church
On the upper east side of the tracks
Left within a dark wooden tower
Where the mercy goes to shower
A church where death goes to cry
A home of a poorer Lord
So deprived and distraught
Mother must have been compelled
As she was forced against her will
They took away my inner core
And my heart murmured no more
My days to play were meant no more
Nick Kler
