half past three
she appeared to me
like the ghost in my nightmare
forewarning the doom
abound the stillness
of a memory
that sleeps, but rests not.
disguised like an angel
with the purity of all intentions
must I dare to question
the bearer of the seed
or the womb that succumbed
to breed
conceived out of compromise
she coiled the cord around the baby's neck
mourned her early demise
but the child isn't gone
I said a little prayer
from her shallow grave
I set her free
I am her waking memory.
~ beautifulbruises©2012