PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A child born a victim of aids his life number by days.
He was born with the reaper holding his hand.
There is nothing but pain and darkness ahead for a short life.
No mother to hold him or sing him a lullaby.
No father to protect him from the bogyman at night.
This short taste of life is no more than bitter sweet.
I'm now looking into your eyes seeing you taking your last breath.
Doing all I can so you don't go just yet.
The only one to prove you were here in this world if only for a short time.
Why do I come to a stranger bed side just to watch and hold your hand until you die.
Here you lay in my arms, another abandon child thrown out in the wild.
Why have I decided to come and hold your hand?
What was I seeking in this journey?
Maybe faith and God, but with the suffering I've seen I’m not sure what I have found.
Now my little friend it is time for you to finally rest; I whisper as I watch you take your last breath.