Harlan Ray Walker
My Mama's eyes, tired with trouble and strife,
Held heavy dreams, crushed under life.
She watched the moon rise over cracked tenement stone,
And wondered if a child should be born alone.
Her heart weighed choices, deep and grim,
What life could she carve with love grown thin?
A future, bleak as a winter storm,
Where cries of hunger became the norm.
Daddy, though, clenched hope with fists,
Dreams of a son in a world that twists.
He’d fight the odds, hold back the tide,
Keep the boy strong, with dignity, pride.
But Mama knew how the darkness creeps,
Through narrow streets where sorrow seeps.
The night grew long, and tears fell down,
Haunted by burdens that drag and drown.
The son never born, yet always near,
A ghost who whispered in shadows of fear.
In Mama’s chest, a silent song,
Echoed deep, like something gone wrong.
But Daddy prayed to dreams that bled,
In alleys of promise, in nights of dread.
A father’s hope, a mother’s sigh,
And a boy unborn who’d always die.