This work contains graphic depiction
that some may find disturbing to read.
It has been modified & reposted below
...............................................F j R
The vacuum wasn't working today,
so a dozen infants were spared aspiration
in a room custom built to perpetrate -
natal anathema,
while the tube-shaped disposal box,
deceptively guised in shimmer -
is not paled by 'clinical' darkness today,
devoid of small body parts.
Sleep well, doctors of homicide,
the vacuum repair-man came today,
guarantees a productive tomorrow
to the angst of all man's gods-
as morning hails the fallen wings
that rise from the darkest chasm,
staining the dove white organdy
in the surgical killing fields-
of Death after Life.
Frank J. Ryan, Jr.
-Copyright © MMXV-
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem