The Whispering...
Suffering,
but she understood death,
easily driven to violence,
as she held her breath,
the grief, however brief,
for her dead infant son,
was her only true emotion,
her blind passion,
and lack of compassion,
made her forget,
there was no regret,
she started talking to herself,
and wondering if it was
fully developed yet,
the whispering of the kill,
and thoughts like that stood still,
very still,
her son was the topic
of conversation,
and speaking of him
had an odd sensation,
after he was born,
there was nothing to hold,
death was cold,
even though she could feel the heat,
and if God’s son could walk on water,
why couldn’t they meet?
© 2012 Frank Atanacio