Dear You,

Love or lust cast you in the heavenly mould,
Where the Breath that heaves this chest mine
And those two breasts locked in their romantic hold
The night you first became human,
Filled your unicellular can
With life. And your mother could sure feel the sign.

But hate or mistrust casts you in the deadly cold
Without cloth or hope nor breathing equipment thine
As the doctor – ironic at 9 months birth you he would –
Pulls you from your Earth to space,
The vacuum you aren’t equipped to face
To take that life away as mother and/or father your fate decline.

Cry not as your electric pulses die with your parting soul,
But cry for the comfort of myopic mum murdering with confused mind,
For purity fills your innocent soul leaving the fleshy fold
To rise to Heaven
Loved, hated, unleavened.
Cry but that your early death may be last of its kind.

Go well brave You, until we meet on the other side.

With love,
May-Have-Been-Your-Friend

(c) Nyonglema