Conceived In A Storm

November 15, 2007
By Natasha Tyagi, Newton, MA

Automatic harsh voices, hushed at first,
Then louder, volume turned up
Like speakers playing unfamiliar music to the ear.

Tears splash down, making a puddle, later a flood,
Washing and sweeping smiling memories away.

Down the hall,
A creaking door hesitantly opens,
Opening uncertainty.
Splashing footsteps cover the floor
Discovering the newest subject
To be avoided at the dinner table.

Soon commences the barking of the unsuspecting dog,
Alerting everyone to the thief who steals
And robs people of Lives.

A soft cry travels from the little wise counselor,
Reaching out to her creators,
Advising beyond her years,
Dealing with the palpable tension.

As light turns to dark,
The little apple of eyes,
Slowly drifts into a sleepy satisfaction,
For she knows there are no waves,
Just ripples.

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