Shaken To the Core
Her sad eyes and tear stained face evoked such ambivalent feelings;
I could barely stand to look upon the half-naked child in front of me.
She turned her face toward me with a pained look begging for help.
Maternal feelings welled up within for this pitiful tangled haired waif.
Gaping in abject horror, I observed the orphan's frail arms wrapped
tenaciously around a dead rat and held close to her dirt smeared body.
I sensed this sewer 'pet rat' had been her only source of comfort in life.
The one thing she turned to, when sad or hungry, would never again be.
While resisting the urge to gather her up in my arms and dry her tears,
still I desired to sympathize... whispering, "Don't cry honey, it'll be OK".
I lied, knowing it wouldn't. Besides what could I do with so little to give.
I turned and walked away not wanting to face my growing sense of lack.
I awoke with a start, shuddering, deeply disturbed and troubled to tears.
Sometimes the vivid images, like a horror movie returning to haunt me,
make me question, "Who is that wretched child so forlorn and dejected?
The memories shake my very soul, the hidden message still eluding me.
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