When The Sweet Milk Of Life Goes Sour.


When The Sweet Milk Of Life Goes Sour.


She comes as the

angel of innocence lost,
haunting many

war torn cities,
where car bombs transport

children and babies
far too early from

the promises of life.

She echoes the weeping

in the sordid back rooms
of pedophiles, molesting

the pure in moments of evil lust.

She cuddles up with the

starving in third world countries,
absorbing their hunger pangs,

as she kisses them off to sleep,
in a lullaby of death forevermore.

She cradles the precious

aborted in tiny carriages of gold
that she passes to the

angels who wait sadly above,

in a nursery reserved

for all of the women who died

all of those who could

never have a baby

and will at long last get

their heavenly rewards.

She wears the symbol

of the plucked rose,
cut off from life

in its perfect bloom.
leaving only thorns

that pierce the hearts
of loved ones left behind

to wallow in grief.

Innocence bleeds

from her weary eyes,
in the never ending

results of man's follies
visited upon the tiny

souls who follow her
their pie-eyed piper

to a far better place.


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