If My Child was Here

A Mother’s Poem to You

I sit on his bed where

he use to lay his head

I cannot believe it has been

three months when my son was

shot dead

I remember when he cried

himself out of my womb,

hungry and ready to take on

the world.

But now, I remember his

presence, knowing, him being

dead, makes no sense.

I went to my pastor to find a

spiritual explanation, but right now

nothing about God could bring

any consolation.

See, I lost my baby because some

fools couldn’t agree, it was heart breaking

holding my sons blood stain head

on me.

I, like any parent wanted the

killers dead, but if they could

watch me cry for hours with my hurt,

They will know how much my son was worth

If my child was here, I wouldn’t have

No tears, I’ll be a mother to him

Oh! if the  killers could see the rage in me

I want them dead, dead I say, how could

A mother f***er kill my son

can’t people fight without having

a gun.

If my child was here, I’ll be enjoying

him for years instead of days,

 but I be cautious because violence is taking

many of his kind away.

If my son was here, I would not be

explaining to you of how I miss him

and love him so. This poem would

go something like this:

Hey, have you hugged your son often,

I’ll better before some coward put

him in a coffin.

If my child was here, well, the rest

would be none of your business

cause I be making him study hard

for that hard ass sociology test

However, I am here, and telling you

my peers, violence is killing our promise

of tomorrow, if we do not stop,

we’ll be dead in a infinity bed of sorrow