Conception
Conception
There
In seconds words birth
A phrase laboring me to pen
Anticipation of a perfect offspring
Contraction squint the mind for me
That shudders a intent, until
It flops on the page, kicking
Father critic oversee sternly
At times pushing me to the side
I separate from a creator
A witness as it breathes
The air is a touch of Intellect, soft
It’s a raindrop in my lover eye
Or sharp carom in the back
Pain echoes for immortality
Joy wanting the freedoms lounge
Clarity in the pitch black
Or the divine shine,
Like the lamp beside me.
Copyright © Johnathon Souders | Year Posted 2010
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