Broken Dream

She watches the baby cry

As she solemnly asks, "Why?"

But the only sound left

Is the respirator's sigh.

She sits in her chair,

Face wrinkled with lines of dispair,

And lets her eyes wonder

Into a blank stare.

Nothing is left for her,

No feelings left for him to stir.

All that is left

Is the machine's whir.

To this she falls asleep,

Praying the lord, his soul to keep,

And dreams of the machine's ominous beep,

The cords, the tubes,

And his temperature controlled cube.

Then an alarming screech

Makes her grind her teeth.

Eyes popping open,

She sees the commotion.

Eight doctors dressed in green,

Three nurses dressed in white,

Poking, prodding,

Begging the baby to come back to life.

Then they all back away

And shake their heads,

As if to say,

"All we can do now is pray."

The baby died that day.

They took away the respirator.

They shut off the machines.

The left her in the the room

To stare at her broken dream.

Too sad to shed a tear.

Too mad to yell or scream,

She watched her baby die

And solemnly asked, "Why?"

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Comments 1 comment

K. Burns Darling profile image

K. Burns Darling 5 years ago from Orange County, California

Welcome to Hub Pages! This is such a sad tale, it made me want to cry. I was a Navy wife for 16 years, (We retired in 2006) and faced many deployments with two young children, It isn't easy, and I feel for you. Voted up and and awesome. Looking forward to reading more hubs by you.

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