Henry was never born
because Henry was never conceived.
He wasn't created in that loving moment of passion.
He never experienced the warmth and nourishment
in his mother's womb.
because Henry never existed.
Henry was the son I never loved, never held, never heard.
I didn't ever see Henry or feed him mother's milk.
My milk from my breast.
Henry never felt the sun
or tasted the air.
He didn't crawl or walk or run.
Henry never drove a car.
Henry never knew his own name.
I gave him three.
And because he didn't make it into the world,
he'll never know what it is to get old.
Henry will never die.
Poetry by la tristesse
Read 796 times
Written on 2012-07-02 at 20:30
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