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M Solav Jun 2023
There will certainly be
A great many of them
Far readier than I’ll ever be
O blessed unborn one
Yet endowed with inexistence
To whom mercy shall slip from
And re-emerge in its awakening
Beings past or below my shrinking age
A great many among them
Whom I once did or shan’t collide
Beyond the captured scope of mutual days
To relate to you what high events
Unrolled before our common eyes
Folks granted with the privilege
Promoted to the status of witnesses
Historians, athletes and prophets
By themselves and their narratives
I let them unroll their good accounts
Forfeit their tales of what must be bound
To mould your unsuspecting
Circumspect mind and
Save you from sensing
Delicately sensing
Voices that once knew more
Than in haste speak
Than with haste carry
Daringly could the silence hear
Untangle the mumbling tango
Of the vociferous crystal parade
My darling unborn one
The tortuous path out of the forgings
Of reason almighty, the ventricular beast
Played and echoed in loops and on repeat
No, you shan’t feast on their hymns
Yours is meant for the engineering of belief
In something further, of glory,
Far more, furthermore,
Something extraordinary
Than the days of days
And the knowns of knowns
And to lodge firmly out of the stillness
That’s woven in the heart of your chanting storm
And in the precipice of the forecast
May you never come to designate
But the space between the notes
So that when it comes not to ever pass
We shall rejoice in the untold absence
That binds us as if pierced by an arrow
While we ask about the bow
Written on June 24th, 2023.

— Copyright © M. Solav —

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact for usage requests. Thank you.
Janica Katricia Mar 2022
I bet your eyes glitter like the ocean floor during sunsets
His eyes were like pink skies.
You might smile and laugh in a way that would bring life to the room full of sad hearts,
He was the life of every party
and to mine.

I'm sorry if I didn't get the chance to show you how he makes coffee at four in the afternoon, listening to songs of screaming pain and longing.
I'm sorry if you didn't get to hear how he sings his heart out and teaches me how to make barbeque in the middle of the night.
I'm sorry if you haven't got the chance to smell our favorite shirt, I was planning to keep it unwashed until you're here,
so in a way, you know what his hugs smell like.
I'm sorry if you didn't even see the same moon we loved.

You held on so tightly and I know it was hard, it was for me, too.

But I know, you lay in the bed of clouds softer than the cheap mattress I got from the department store.

In the next life we have, I'm pretty sure I'll hug you so tight that we'll never be apart anymore, my baby.
Now, you rest easy and wait for mommy.

**we  might not meet in this lifetime, but surely, I'll never let you go the next time I get to meet you, again.
Nickolas J McKee Jan 2022
She came to me with the unborn,
The devil’s look in the baby’s eye.
Small feet & hands all well too torn,
I to grab my own son dead & shy.
What I thought would be a blessing,
Would only begin life misery.
Long ago, I so obsessing,
Waiting for my heir of mystery.
Feeling his beating little heart,
Beat! Beating! No lungs grasping for air.
No more a mother, but a ****,
Dead eyes of her evil long lost care.
So, I killed her - life for a life -
Who knew - the prayer of a knife…
"pappa" i call you are to me
Though you are unaware of me
As I"m are inexistent in the universe
Longing  to be born as your unique verse ..

"Pappa", the only name I know
For my mumma carries only you
Along with me in her thoughts and dreams!!
I know you are our only world
And final word
with nothing beyond...

Thanks for the little care
You shower upon my mumma
With which she nourishes me.
Though she and me deserve more...
Yet are gratified, contented
Are we!!

Me and mumma love you pappa
And we care for your being good
Love to be born so soon
To grow up with your love and care...
Love you pappa..
lisa Apr 2020
The world was not prepared to meet me.
My mother listened to soldiering footsteps; not to my inner cries.
Ears were deafened, and hearts were clamped down on.
I was conceived in double darkness; my fingers formed in midnight and stars.

My father ran away without plans of coming back.
My house was shattered inside my mother's womb.

I fell away from earth like wings made of flesh,
Fevered and forgotten.
They sifted through my mother's body and did not find me.
I was nothing but nothing died.
I died in the deaths of many people.
I died in many dyings.
shamamama May 2019
She painted peace over the wounded mouths twisted with lies, truths unspoken, love never claimed,
She brushed them with the pink of a newborn baby's lips

She painted peace over the hands that held weapons, fingers that had pulled triggers to **** or maul,
She scraped them green as the new shoots from blades of grass reborn in the Spring

She painted peace in the hearts of those women and men who held broken pieces filled with sadness, scarred with inner rage
She colored them red of the rose in full scent and full bloom

She painted peace on the eyes and bodies of children stripped away from their life force, their source of mother
She traced them the purest blue found in the color of water at dawn's first light

She painted peace in families torn and broken
She swept them with all the colors of the rainbow appearing just after the rain, when the light shines through with hope

She painted peace in the indigenous souls torn from their culture and land
She circled them the color of the green flash-
the flicker of pure green born after the sunsets, existing only for a second

She painted peace in the unborn and the born whose differences bring challenges to them and their families
She skimmed them with lavender fields blooming in the swirling winds, with the sounds of the bees buzzing in joy and abundance

She painted peace over the wounds, the carcasses of animals fallen in a frenzy of human greed and misunderstanding
She whisked them golden as the sun rising in its glory to begin a new day

She painted peace over the ghosts of the forests and their inhabitants
She rolled them the brightest yellow of the night sky--the first star rising-guiding us though the whispers of time steering us in the darkness

She painted peace in the waters, the rivers and oceans who were littered with the makings of man 
She glided them silver to reflect the light that is always around

She painted peace on the earth and women--places torn open and stripped, laying barren, vulnerable.  
She covered them the rich colors of terra cotta- freshly made pottery from hands who love creation

She painted the air, the unfiltered air, clogged, imbalanced
She flowed it clear, the color of innocence - when we look into the eyes of the newborn, and those just about to pass.

She painted it all,

And when the summer sun melted the colors and subjects, she molded the forms, colors, scent, textures and sounds into the shape of love as eternity.
She sang the sweetest birdsongs into the new day bringing in renewal  

She painted peace into all of life.
Sometimes I cannot fix, forgive or forget, and so I can make art and learn to how to accept and evolve. I listened to the song Imagine by John Lennon, and this song, inspired me.
TCross Jun 2018
Life begins with family in the mist
A gentle hug with a loving kiss
expressions of love not yet reciprocated
A Voice, smell and touch now a reality illuminated
nurtured, educated, maturity, just emotionally evolving
Growth, ambition, learning the strengths of problem solving
Star BG Dec 2018
Every morning my unborn mind awakens
TO smell change in air
TO expand breath
TO ride bronco of light.

It cries to be free from ego
It yearns to move in harmony.
My baby child calls
for source to fill her cup
WITH god’s energy
WITH dreams
WITH my own awakening of self.
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