Salmon sky, gray clouds,
The crimson ball out of reach.
Piercing through the evening sky,
A ray of light shown at her feet.
Heaving breasts, audible pulse,
Thick veins etched to her ebony skin.
Lying on her back, her thoughts at rest,
A tear streaming down her chin.
Trembling lips, stuttered words,
She gets on her knees and prays to the Lord,
Asking for forgiveness, begging for mercy,
For she had killed her unborn child.
Senses heavy, deteriorating mind,
She falls face first on to the ground,
Makes no effort to get back up,
As all she hears is her baby's sound.
Hovering clouds, the mist sets in,
A shadow burgeoning in the distance near,
She jolts right up, watching it advance,
Her infants features fade and appear.
Gentle wind, shifting sand,
The mother paralyzed by her guilt,
Transfixed by the monotonous visions,
Of her bloody babe sheathed in a kilt.
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