WHERE THE UNBORN ARE
I ride the world to the end of the line,
a fragile thing under a hard metal sky,
hearing the future say
the gods no longer need us
and heaven still costs what each can pay.
It’s calling us on, but who knows where;
when all the questions are answered,
the problem still remains,
a child crying forever in the night.
Published in SurVision
S.C. Flynn 
As mush as this Poem is concerned, it is a well mastered masterpiece worth reading from its very beginning.
It is conceptually powerful and artistic on its own right. It brings the reader to the core of what exactly the writer is trying to express in terms of his needful emotions of having a child.
Well written. Keep it up.
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Thanks!
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