she writes despair,
from her womb.
in thick menstrual red.
...a dirge of lost potential.
lamentations of longing,
need and want for a child
sear her face and mind....
again a false start,
hope....stands expectant at
the starting line.....
only to falter and fall,
time after time.
she hates,
this carriage, that does not,
well do the job
she hates,
those who can, with apparent ease.
who do not mis,
but have,
the joyous moments,
of that first squalling cry...
but mostly,
she longs for
the next time,
she can try....
til then,
sadness prevails
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 8:19 PM UTC
she writes despair,
from her womb.
in thick menstrual red.
...a dirge of lost potential.
lamentations of longing,
need and want for a child
sear her face and mind....
again a false start,
hope....stands expectant at
the starting line.....
only to falter and fall,
time after time.
she hates,
this carriage, that does not,
well do the job
she hates,
those who can, with apparent ease.
who do not mis,
but have,
the joyous moments,
of that first squalling cry...
but mostly,
she longs for
the next time,
she can try....
til then,
sadness prevails
a friend, misscarriage,ivf...i don't need to say more...
sadness prevails
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