It Is

A perfect face in slumber

Being gently lulled to death,
That life chose to encumber
And God infused with breath.

It was an unseen act of hate –

No eye saw her conception,
Before her time and yet too late
For locked doors of perception.

And all alone she faced the world

Unsure of what she’s meant to be.
Forever conscious of the words
‘the coffin is the real me’.

I tried to take her from that pain

Of blind, unfelt emotion.
Yet now I see it’s just the same,
A retrospective ocean.

I once came looking for the child

That my own hand had shaped;
Once so innocent, yet so wild
- A pessimist replaced.

I didn’t recognise the eyes

That drowned in cooling tear
Because I’d only known her smiles
In younger, happier years.

While suffering guilt I leant across

To give a goodbye kiss.
She’ll never return to the way that she was
And I had brought her to this.