The Call

My baby boy has called for help.
His youngling voice ensnared with rage,
in fits of fury he begs for the peace
that with every scream he has disengaged.

Guilt ridden for the part that I must have played,
I beg to know where I lost his way.
For I have never and will never love another
as I have vowed to love him for the rest of my days.

I will circle with joy the rings of hell.
I will laugh in the face of the fledgling devil,
if the price of my terror means his terror dispelled
and the tilt of my ground keeps his ups and downs level.

I will answer his call.
I will love through his pain.
I will carry my boy,
until joy calls his name.