The Desperate Plea of An Unborn

Mommy, you carry me in your womb, not knowing that it'll become my tomb; mommy, on a cigarette you constantly puff, and I, too, inhale the smoke that makes you cough... I sense much loneliness, even though I can't see you and feel the sadness of your day; why does smoke make you reject love, the tenderest love you should have for your baby? Your lullaby isn't heartfelt and sweet to make me sing, there's a sourness I can't easily explain; most mothers are happy when they conceive, why aren't you excited, delighted and really glad? My desperate plea you can't hear, because this voice is too low for you to hear it and give up that bad habit; I want to live like others babies and drink my milk and grow, but you're not concerned and moved by it... Even your teeth have turned yellow and your breath smells, smoke makes all your clothes sting as your brittle hair loses sheen; how can I survive, if you continue to clog your lungs? I breath what you breath...I cough when you cough, and sometimes bleed... Mommy, I will have the same beautiful eyes that you have, that reflect the color of a spring sky and softness of a calm sea; mommy, live and let me live and hear my desperate plea, many uncaring mothers have died and taken their unborn to their grave... Cpoyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci