The Lost Children

I
We call on you

Spirits of infants
draw of milk
god of habitats
drop of Ink
The stainless of a Virgin
The wrinkles of the agings

II
We beckon to you

The raindrops from Daddy’s eye
and teardrop from mummy’s sky
The ache of sages
Tale of aged
The ancestry spits of ancestors
and every bit of the end gods

III
This is who we are

We are the lost of figures
The lost figures
We are the shatter of mirrors
The shattered mirrors
We are the missing by myth
Is this how we would die?

IV
This is who are we

We are the shyness of the undressed
The shame of the stripped
We are the pointers of the addressed
The pain of the striped
We are the Lost children
The odd difference

V
This is all we want

We want a song wailed by a fanged
the panting of a virgin on her wedding night
We want the silent curse of a cheated ghost
the hot ice from a trampled drone
We trade our call to batter for your pity
Please wipe your tears with a rag tagged filthy

VI
This is all we want
We wish for one more meal from Mama’s pot
We wish you would find who we were
because we are not who we are,we are lost
We wish you would serve us food in our absence
because the aroma might cause our presence
We are the lost children

VII
To who that knows the pain of losing a child
To who that wish our girls would be back
To you that read this piece with me
I am one of the lost children.
I long ago wore their shoe.

Micheal Ace
(C)ACE world

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