How quick we move from labor nurses' hands,
wrapping us in a diaper, to taxidermists',
artfully arranging our limbs in the casket.....
What matters in this moment, this
one great blink of God's eye,*
is not what we own or've done
but the press of flesh upon our flesh;
the feeling; our Communion.
* The lifetime of a human (70 years) is to the lifetime of the universe (14 billion years, so far) as 10 seconds are to the lifetime of a human (2 billion seconds).

Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem: .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( )
Born this little  mite
Who's putting up a fight
A precious life.
Born Tuesday
Why you left the womb
Far far to early
My little great grandson
A little soul
Such a gift from heaven.
Than you're ever know
Even if lotus shares a bond
With muddy and murky pond,

Yet lotus is holy and precious
As our birth never defines us.

What we make out of ourselves is vital,
Only that aspect is important and crucial.
That woman
who held you inside herself
for nine painful months,
that woman
who will not let you
sleep on an empty stomach
even once,
that woman
who gives equal love to
all her daughters and sons,
that woman
whose love for you bleeds,
that woman
who is always there
for you in times of needs,
that woman
who is not appreciated
for her labor never ending,
that woman who made
your life worth living,
i hope you don't realise
her worth late, cause
that woman is far too great.
To the pale light
Head first
Love in hand

Gasp for breath,
Cloak in white
Wash and

The sins,
A life anew
To start
I'd like to think dying is birth. And birth is dying. Here is my shot at reversible poetry.
Each day we stray further from
Which is ironic, because
From the time we are born
We continue the cycle
Of growth and decay
Like withering flowers
Once youthful and green
Who basked in the glory of the sun
Are now wilted are weary
And are screaming in agony
To return to the soil
Where they once were born
Poetic T May 2
The stars are better off
                    without us.
Not mourning our final
              in to censorship.

We voice confusion from
             our snow globe,
            ready for it to be forsaken .
Shattering the existence
            that was never meant to birth.

"Silence is wondrous when we never hear it coming"
The twins came today.
They took their first breaths
On this first day of May.
Today, and all days,
I swear and I pray,
To love them always,
Come what may.
The twins are Brigid and Ophelia. Mother is well. All is good.
Katie Parsons Apr 30
Leaves blow in the dusty wind
Young hearts go sepearate ways
A child is born and an elder has died.
We call this the season of life.

Trees blooming pink little fruits
Bees pollinate to drink the nectar
Grass blows in the mild chilly wind
The drizzle of rain falls on my cheeks

Red fills his cheeks as he kicks his little feet
The lighting strikes one more tree
Air is scorching his skin under his shirt
Cold air blows upon her face

Orange and yellow fill the streets
The couple on the porch open the newspaper
Bark on the tree begins to fall
The sounds of trick or treat are in every ear.

White flakes dance in the sky above them
Warm cocoa fills their throats
That last bit of warm air leaves their lungs
All to be reborn once again.
Poetic T Apr 29
Within the first moments,
             beaten upon to show pain.

Woeful of an innocence made to
             cry for the pleasure of others.

A parent holds after others hands
           molest there innocence of birth.
Fingerprints imprint beyond paternal instincts .

A mothers third party hands clench,
                   where others have already
                   took maternal moments away.

A piñata of so much meaning, now spoilt
                   in a mothers hands. She cries as
                   others hold the candy of innocence.
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