Life

Life is so precious, and we take it for granted everyday. Like it is not the gift that it should be. Like it would be here no matter what. Only in the idea of a child, a baby, do we even consider it. An unspoken, secret of the adults of the world. Like cancer, we whisper the words in hopes to avoid such atrocities as a baby dieing or or a miscarriage. I find myself in a place of hate for those who propel these things with their arguing and fighting around those mothers to be. Times when my voice in screams can't stop all the verbal violence around them. To hide them in a bubble of safety, away from the world of hate and despair. It's almost as if they are ignorant to those around them, like no one else matters. I would rather die, then to see one of my grand babies disappear like so much dust in the wind. My mind goes to a place of destruction for those I'm thinking of, with my hands around their necks until their last breath escapes from their bodies. I will never change the way I feel, but the that are around will change or they will be like dust in the wind to me. I have no sympathy for the ignorant and I never will. Until next time.

                                                              Writer in Limbo