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...prized progeny well nigh impossible chore
haunted by priceless offspring, 
neither surviving 
   papa/ mama can never a door
not ever again hearing 
   soft pitter patters across floor
mental angst fraught with blood & gore
this haint mooch different, 
   than a g.i. Joe in battle fatigues
locked in moral combat with korps
indelibly etched in conscience 
   bent on evoking nightmares 
like an ogre of folk lore
once happy go lucky faces smile no more
nor
will horror of grief abate, 

   but continue to pour
inducing incessant screams 
   from tigress roar
that remain in cerebral store
vis a vis an awful imp prim a tore
hammering, nailing, 
   wrenching, et cetera phantoms 
once genetic gems of yore.
thus, upon a bed of nails or 
suffer any mortal pain well nigh
for my
precious progeny, 
   whose innocence like apple pie
to the core 

   their angelic souls parental guidance
yes, sometimes 
   oat k shun ally goes a rye
but never could this father fathom...

   a momentary sigh
at beauty and innocence in children flush
with zest and unbounded energy
sans novel experiences those mowed down 

will NEVER BE ABLE NEW ADVENTURES TO TRY
now, he only stares blankly
at the bloody headlines wondering WHY???

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