Sleeping Baby Poem by Areese Woodson

Tenebrous clouds gather,
Enveloping the sky.
Immersed in his rest,
So buried within the dream,
He couldn't clasp the enkindling stranger approaching his door.

The wrathful vibrations of combustions bleeding ear drums,
Sights of stares dipped in melted flesh,
Screams struggling to find land in dams of anxiety,
Grievous tears,
The weight of nothing turns into something
As it takes bodies and gently drops them to the floor.
Frustration flourishes.

Flares squeeze through the guant space under the door.
Eyes too closed to see the rendering of his brand new toys as they plunged to the floor,
Hilarity chocking on its own liquids.
Those tingling sounds were getting closer and closer.

Relief in the form of a watery chill showered faces,
Washing away grungy memories -
Quickly it became a nuisance when,
'Wait, we're missing someone, '
Came out of somebody's mouth.
She made a vow.
After breaking the trust she once had,
She could see poems glowering through the cracks -
'The Baby, '
Another -
'The Baby, '
Another and another -
'The Baby! '
' The Baby! '
She ran to the slab of hard ashes to save the last 'living' part of her.

But when she got there,
The sun ascended from behind the mountain drop.
Morning touched the crib,
But there was no cry -
No whimper to respond.
Brushed on his cheek,
Facing the permanent picture.
'Shh, you can sleep now, '
I said.