Chanced.

She chanced love,
throwing fate like two red hot dice
that don't have congruent numbers;
there is no winner,
there is no black dot,

there are no truths in this.

But she envisions baby blue
and polka dots when she sleeps,
crushing her hands underneath
a mouth that is yearning for a
child's innocent kiss-

and God will forgive, he always does...
as the wind moves the sails of her boat
and she struggles to let her tears be
numb, but they make her heart
ache for lullabies.
If only she had never believed a game
would satisfy her life and guarantee
a beneficial end.
If only she had sang, sang for him
to be continued in beauty.

She sacrificed a life for what she
was sure would be a better plan,
but how wrong she was.

Never will those lies convince her
heart again that there is not an option,
a way of healing, a way to have closure,
forget that she can't bury her child
even though now,
nightmares explain to her
he is resting in Heaven with
recovered dreams.
-

The probability of life was placed,
on people who do not understand
the precious heartbeat of an
unborn child.

-
Written 7/12/13 @ 11:02 PM