I am so sorry my son.
I felt you growing with each cramp.
I carried you inside me,
While you heard me sing.
I talked to you without a name.
I apologize for not knowing your eye color
And I will always wonder if you looked like your mother.
This is for the best.
Your father and I would not have been picturesque parents.
We quarrel and I fear his capabilities,
I would rather you die before witnessing that,
If the first sound you heard was screaming,
If you had to know fright before smiles,
And if you grew up to hate the home, we brought you into.
I am so sorry my son.
Your father held me as I sobbed about your loss.
Now, I cannot look at him, without thinking of you.
My little son,
I am glad you weren't born into a world
Where tragedy would force you to grow up.
YOU ARE READING
An Ode to Muses to Kalliope
PoetryThis poetry collection explores regret, isolation, philosophy, with a sprinkling of guilt. Historical references are encouraged! If you're just going through the motions of life, whether it be blissful or difficult, these poems are great companions...
