General Poetry posted December 3, 2013 Chapters:  ...6 7 -8- 9... 

This work has reached the exceptional level
We crush their souls

A chapter in the book The Different Faces Of Love

'Soul Of A Child'

by RGstar

 Soul Of A Child
We speak in grey of same sex love, whispers stagnate, in hope thereof,
From church to street and high in halls, we tug at love from the law man's stall,
We sprinkle faith on peppered eyes, who then the prize from all despise?
Father loves father, today's debate, Mother loves mother, just human fate?
Love has no gender, iridescent intent, it sprinkles whom for whom it's meant,
Its dew the scent of hyacinth mild, sometimes the colors crash and collide,
……So, ''Who will catch the soul of a child?''
 Piercing blue, her eyes stare through, ''Schhhh,'' she hushes, to her reflected view,
The room beyond, all hope is gone, father bleeds father, ''mother, where have you gone?''
She huddles low, on cold glass floor, her closet of conscience, she has been there before,
A question of doubt of what it's  about, shadows cascading, she wants to shout,         
A few blocks away, little Tommy plays, mother loving mother, in such different ways,
His question is riled, pain compiled. ''when is father coming''? Another answer filed,
……….''Who will catch the soul of a child?''
Sequined embrace, satin covers  lace; we feed them words of our disgrace,
And when Pearls buy fear and Ivory tears, we drink their souls like ice cold beers,
''Schhhhh'', she says, as her spirit cries, her soul has departed with your silken lies,
Choice is a diamond that only sparkles for you, consecrated love, but only for two,
A child untouched by life's early spring, how we sweeten their milk with dragon sting,
Sedating their thoughts with sugarless bile, as innocence choke on a forgotten smile,
……… tell me, ''Who will catch the soul of a child?''
 She raises once more, fragile and sore, detangles on effort from the cold, cold floor,
Tiny hands writhe, lucent stains  dried; it was only a night ago since she last cried,
''Schhhhh,'' she whispers, her fingers small, the lines of perspiration smear the closet wall,
''Her bed has found her as thrice a sigh, eyes filled with water, yet, she refuses to cry,
 ''Mother, oh mother, where are you now?'' ''I'll dream a dream that you are here somehow,''
Alas, sleep finds her, a little fetus beguiled, and just before drifting she whispers, defiled…….
............''Who will wash this soulless child?''

                                  ………. ''And, 'who will catch the soulless child?''



Earned A Seal Of Quality

It is the right of every living thing to seek love wherever it is found, regardless of gender and sex. Yes, we push the boundaries, but love chooses no gender. And in that we all have a right, regardless of our preference.

All...except that is....The Child. We have choice, but somewhere down the line, within our choices, they lose theirs....and that is what worries me.
Their voices are forever silenced, as we steal their soul.

What happened to the family ideal, where everybody counts?
Throughout our debates on gender, rights, and choice, the child remains invisible.

We take their souls, we caress their spirits, and make them ours; we take their voices, and consider it done....and that makes me sad.

Defiled = (not sexually) = damage the purity or appearance of; mar or spoil.

(it is four in the morning. Working on this forever, hope there is not much to edit tomorrow) Goodnight fellow writers.
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