Tourniquet

Gentle whisps of elegant despair,
hidden like locks of broken tots,
become intertwined like air,
all moving in displayed spots.

Few will be taken,
less will be shone,
none will find a home.

These are the thoughts,
that echo in my mind,
as in the orphanage...
I began to cry.

Life is a slow weaving bucket,
reaping the flow of ice,
shedding its grace like lice,
swooning the children to Tourniquet.

To turn the tides,
of love and war,
is simple in the vile spite,
of devious deceit: Life.

No one asked them to be born,
nor conceived and to be adorn.

But many ask for a way,
to end their lives some other way.

And like the few,
I share with others,
a terror some view,
hidden by mothers.

Birth : Back to the Earth.

Tourniquet: Out so quick.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

*I think the ending got lame. I will edit it.

*Please help me out with possibilities.

*its OK.