600
Precious child to
whom which life
I gave.
You've fallen early,
weeping is excessive
because you were'nt
saved.
Every night assigned
for sleep,
is now a repetitive
memorial.
Filled with your
captured smiles,
submerged under
my teardrops.
Through the collage
of photos I look
for answers,
to this unsloved crime.
If only I saw through
your silence presented
at dinner time.
Or saw beyond your
wooden structure
entrance,
that excused even
our voices from smalltalk.
Then maybe I wouldn't
have to see through our
chosen casket.
I wouldn't have to
watch you descend,
into a new bedroom
underground.
