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Reyvrex Questor Reyes


A Fetus Speaks


How sweet the Autumn breeze
Wafting from my window
Before this Winter freeze
I could see skies are blue;
But how would I to know
Or how will I
In truth, I lie
Even as poets do,

Saying life is a race:

How could I win? My chance is lame
How could I lose? I did not play
I could not even see the game,
Because I never came to be.

'To be or not to be'
To me is not a question, never
'To be or not to be'
I was not asked, how could I answer

I am sort of outlawed;
Like the many others
Or, maybe, disallowed
By choice of some mothers;

Or, unwanted, in a sense
I could not be Jesse James
To be 'Wanted: Dead Or Alive'
Instead, I was led to contrive:
'Unwanted: Dead Or Not Alive'

Could I be just cells as hinted,
Which could be eliminated?
By pills, or prescription,
Forceps or incision,
Herbal concoction,
Lethal injection?

Rules may stop humans from dying,
And could keep one from existing,
If so, make this my epitaph
Maybe, with a small stone seraph:

Here lies John Doe
One of this Earth
But none would know
His date of birth;
And as facts are dim
In a scene of violence
Was he the victim
Or maybe, the evidence?

This, my friend, is my proposal
If accorded proper burial
And not proper waste disposal.

Submitted: Sunday, September 16, 2012
Edited: Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Topic of this poem: death


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