Dirge of the Unborn

DIRGE OF THE UNBORN The Owl hoots In the smooth silence of midnight drama, 3 a.m thick darkness Unrivalled by neither the moon nor stars. She moans and wail in excruciating pain Forgetting the envisioned end from the beginning, Her pain shrouded my pleas from within; 'You can not deliver the goods When your heart is heavier than the load'. Reverberation & movements announce my readiness, My time is overdue in the confines of the sack I am eighteen months old...wow... And belly-laden, without seeing the light. I care less about the place we are, It doesn't matter the doctor's gadgets, Equipments or resources available, I just want to make my first long awaited cry. But was it to be?? My virtues pleaded with a soft conscience And I hear them say: "it will be okay", With a totality and constitutional agreement. But consent majority rule Only in groups of one, which are you. They said it will be successful and fine But in less than three hours My fate was sign, sealed and delivered, They said I will be complete But now, I am empty And what are left are pieces of me; Echoes of distress, Ripples of life and soul, Swimming in the pool of tears, Momma, Regrets hovers on the faces of deep depression; They could have been more cautious And Orthodox in their operations. "...although we've been successful in million cases", they said. They never boast more loudly than when there is no one to expose them, Lie away to your heart's content After all, never will they be another Christ resurrection to contradict thee. Smh. VickWizzy Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP} Copyright ©2014.