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The Haunting Grounds

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Midnight moonbeams shined on the mass graves of orphans long forgotten


In this abandoned place, once home to hundreds of children


Suffering the wrath of lost souls searching for family,


Stuck in a parallel existence between


Immortality and the living. 


Their cries can be heard if you listen, begging for care,


Asking for help, wanting love they never received in life. 


If only I can lead them into the light.


I placed a doll on one grave, and a small, faint voice from beyond asked,


“Can I hold it?”


Whimpered a little girl who had nothing but loneliness in her desolate state.


I asked, “What’s your name, darlin’?”


And a sigh came and a whisper breathed, “Amy.  I’m cold!”


“Are you all alone?’, I replied.  She said,


“No.  There’s a bunch of us here.  Can you take us home?”


All I could say was, “I’ll try my best, darlin’.”


Such a lonely world, these haunting grounds. 


Children, burden of a social era long ago


That cast them away like ragged dolls,


Longing for love and security that never existed when alive.


Shame darkens early twentieth century America. 


Poverty destroyed families, broke up homes and discarded human life


Like it was nothing … insignificant, worthless pieces of waste.


Pestilent garbage to the rich, who had not the time to be bothered by such suffering.


And now, the spirits of the children roam their final resting place,


Searching, longing, hoping to find the warm caress of their Mother’s arms.

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