To Be Kind

by Bly Gardener

 

Little child born deaf and blind:
We must kill you to be kind.
In your crib or womb you wail:
Silence, tot. When you are pale
And frog-like in a jar and, later,
Smoke in some incinerator,
From your grief you'll find some peace:
Your parents have signed a release.
Hard, so hard, it was to care
For a calamitous monster
One would have to hide inside.
But do not whine, child. No, take pride:
Your sacrifice of flesh has lent
Fresh tissue for experiments
To lead the state to glories new:
A world where no one is like you.
Somewhat harsh that may seem
To one denied the least sunbeam,
But, no, tiny creature: mark:
Do not fear the perfect dark.
We who lead you to its arms
Savor well those lightless charms,
Where all qualms and doubts must pass:
No judgment but an emptiness, 
In whose abyss we cast your life;
Preparing, for the next, our knife.