Silken Fingers

The wind whispered
like the silent
cries of children,
little silken fingers
threaded in my hair
and the bell-chime
of voices
from across
an empty playground.

Snatched
from the wandering eye
of a weak mother,
carried off
with the promise
of magic
and good things.

From a
cushioned pink palace
to the locked jaws
of darkness,
teeth like
needles
take innocence
and life away.

The wind sang
like the forgotten cries of children,
little broken fingers
that will never
feel.