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.