Come they close to earth spinning forever from planets Spread beyond where spacecraft sought signals lost when angels Once fought amongst the stars in an endeavour To reach through the tangle surrounding what some say was the old moon, but is now just the lunatic loser Upon which all fear to tread.
I can hear them weeping again, those particular angels
that cry for the children
They gather en masse and form an unholy choir and the
sound they produce
Is not like anything earthly; once you've heard it, you'll
never forget , nor will you
Want to hear it again, as long as you live, but you will
I wasn't paying attention the first time his face flickered
across the screen on my TV
But some part of my monkey brain must have stored it
because as soon as I heard the weeping
I knew for whom it was - the red-headed child...I just
I turned up the sound on my TV and tried not to think of
dead babies, mute swans, and all the sadness
That things of this nature bring about, but before I could stop it,
the story came on
A three year old child had been beaten to death in the most
The ultimate reason? He would not eat his breakfast...
Expecting to hear that this poor baby had been stolen,
kidnapped, or abandoned
And this was the terrible outcome of that...
Through a haze of red rage, I learned it was his mother...
his MOTHER and her boyfriend that had
Hung the boy upside down, beat him with numerous
articles - whips, aluminum strips, a curtain rod...
Laughing all the while (his brother, also abused, lived to
to tell the tale...my God)
When he wasn't hung upside down, he was duct-taped
to a chair, or lying unconscious on an air-mattress.
Again, Scotty McMillan was three years old.
Oh angels who weep, drown me if you will...I may not
make it through the night.
There is an anxiety arising in my blood
It's nothing that will show up in tests
But it has begun to pester me more
than you know and it turns me to jello
Makes a meal of any words I might use
to explain away the ouch of such pain
And it is soon so agonizing it consumes
all of me, from the center out
The anguish is no light thing, no piece
of fluff...no, if I don't address it immediately,
I will be in the hospital dying before I know
quite what happened or how.
Certain creatures of the air Frightened by the night They came to see the world again And perished in the light (Leonard Cohen - from One Night I Burned)
Attracted by the flashing lights,
The neighbours came out to see
why EMT's had come, and soon the buzz
arose as two tiny forms were carried out
"Who are they?" could be heard, and more
than once; swaddled bodies, all they saw was hair
Black as coal, they all agreed but again, whose?
The little boy they knew; he was jumping,
playing on the lawn, oblivious to his sisters'
plight, as on stretchers, so needing care
(like)certain creatures of the air.
Twin girls were taken from that house
in such poor shape; one could be forgiven
thinking they both suffered a wasting illness
But no, these near-death malnourished babes
just two years old - had been starved, and beaten too
By their parents; an action that is against all things right
Those who should have protected them most
Cared for them, kept them safe - loved, loved, loved them
Instead, they neglected them, made them frightened of light
Frightened by the night
Their father, such a coward he, called the EMT's
when one of the girls stopped breathing, he panicked
at least that's what is surmised...and oh, they tried to save
them - these girls that weighed less than a three month old
But the one whose heart had stopped needed a respirator
Her parents tried to keep her on it forever but the Drs said when
she was brain-dead, and went to court to give her peace
And even those of the parents' religion shunned them for using
it as an excuse, saying it was not ordained thus in the Koran
They came to see the world again.
Now the parents await trial and life in prison if there's justice
The other girl and her brother have been given up for good
But the angel hovers near me as if I'm her guardian now
Baby M they call this child, the one no-one looked out for
Had I known about her sooner, I would have gone to help
Had anyone know about her, there would have been a fight
But who could guess that parents would be such horror shows
To treat one child exceptionally well while letting the others die
Abused, neglected, threatened; told little girls grew weak at night
And perished in the light.
Another day and her heart stutters and awakes
the rest of her, and that response—what is it?
Flight or fight? Yes—both most likely,
and this is just one of the things that baffles her.
One of the things for which she has no language
and in the absence of words, her longing for a cliff
grows steadily stronger as awareness of bones
becoming brittle and carriage more rickety by the hour.
She wonders at the rift that has brought her here
to this place, this state, this deplorable condition,
and how she's been able to sustain even a modicum
And not been carted off to a proper asylum, or a cemetery.