Nick Kler

Rookie - 193 Points (07/09/1967 / USA)

Death of an unborn child

I am a child yet to be born
I can hear the screams and the scorns
Words are yearning to come out
Yet I have no way to carry them out

I feel so tired and really cold
Confined within the walls of a womb
I want my story to be heard
That none can see and no one can hear

I hear him screaming and growled
I am not meant to be alive
It all ends with a punch
Right through my gratuitous head

I heard them arguing late last night
They would take me far away tonight
To a church way down the tracks
Where a piece from the morning has been torn
And placed upon the cracks on its walls

It hangs now upon the walls
On the upper east side of the hall

Deep within a dark wooden tower
Where mercy goes to shower
A place where death goes to cry
It is so deprived and distraught
A church of the poorer Lord

Mother must have been compelled
As she was forced against her will
They took away my inner core
My heart murmured no more

My days to play were meant no more
Left without the grace of Lord

Nick Kler

Submitted: Sunday, April 12, 2009
Edited: Friday, July 26, 2013

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