scullfase

I sit at the hearth, in some rat filled tavern. I drown my sorrows in the vinegar that the man behind the bar dares to call wine. I am numb to the world. The tides sings in my veins but I ignore it. Another night passes and I have not moved from my seat. People in the room stare furtively through the hearth smoke, and whisper that I am not of this world. The barman keeps them from me for the moment, for he is well paid in forgotten coins. My reverie is interrupted by a sailor, the wine heavy on his breath. He suggests obscenity and I ignore him. He reaches for my arm and I flee the tavern, his face a picture of shock at my dissolution. I seek

A child to come into this world Young and innocent and fragile and mine Soft and warm He will be welcomed with love and care Gentle kisses and light hugs Soft brushes and little tickles This child will not know hatred This child will not know hunger This child will not know pain This child of mine will be blessed He will have two loving parents He will have a full tummy He will have a roof and clothes This child of mine will be one of lucky few For many do not know of love Only pain and hunger and hate This child, this sweet little baby boy Will be one of the luckiest in the world.