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Pessimism for Babies

When we are born, we hysteric'lly cry.
We scream—torn from the womb in discontent.
In death, it is said, we'll fin'lly learn why.

No matter the calmant the doctor tries,
A guttural growl bellows as we vent.
When we are born, we hysteric'lly cry.

We are helpless infants, forced to comply—
Forced to understand a life of torment.
In death, it is said, we'll fin'lly learn why.

Our faces beam bright red. We are untied—
Cut from the cord that provides nourishment.
When we are born, we hysteric'lly cry.

We are ripped out by our feet—held up high.
We hang there—exposed and indecent.
In death, it is said, we'll fin'lly learn why.

The saline streams of tears soak in our eyes.
The first moment of life makes us lament.
When we are born, we hysteric'lly cry.
In death, it is said, we'll fin'lly learn why.

poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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