In the safety of my mother's womb
I am secure and at peace.
I wallow in my underwater world,
wading, sucking out the marrow of
life
through my umbilical IV line.
I feel the ice-cold chills of fear,
the unknown.
The frigid hand of death stretches
out,
grabbing, grasping, yanking
me away from the world I know.
It leaves me without a choice.
I cannot ever choose
to love, to laugh, to cry;
to graze my knee or
feel the tender
touch of my mother's hand
or feel my father's arms embrace
my mind.
I have not had the choice
to worry, to have good as well as bad.
Now I will never feel raindrops,
hear thunder roll,
taste lemondrops and kisses,
and I will never dance in the moonlight
or choose to live at all.
You have made my choice.
In my silent scream I leave.
Until we meet face to face within
a better place where you may see
what I was and might have been.
1998/2001
©eleanor clark
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