Still Birth

movingfingermovingfinger Posts: 117
Still Birth

Time’s amiss
Playing delicately
With unformed organs
Stretching half-ivory
Fingers along
Temporal notes
Piling and stacking
On top of yesterday’s
Unspent seconds

When will it all start again?
Baby cry
And maybe tomorrow
We’ll try
To stitch this hole,
Ripped and then
Cut with a knife,
Birthing stale,
Embryonic air
And the dead
Clod of hope.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-- Omar Khayyam
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