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From WombsTo Tombs
In my mother's womb a radical is conceived.
In the same womb his tomb is prepared.
For here in the outside of her soul
We are oftenly grumbling
Settling our disputes with dagger and gun.
A baby is born - and is soon gone
Before his sun brightens.
His brother must please his godfather.
Wrench children of their cildhood,
Sacrifice them before unholy altars of greed.
Such is the grim face of a mother
Who bring forth children who die prematurely.
Pray my child, who`s home today
For tomorrow is hastily waning.
Sad, but true..this is a very well written poem.
skyland(Sarah Claudette Bratcher)