There is a space between
when eyelids touch our
parturient soul
and out of this black that
Softens comes a new day
and we are again
within
reborn
with discovered Joy's.
And having been ressurected in
that space between;
a new vision clear
a sky more blue
a love more pure
a life more near.
There is a space between.
eternal ferment
parturient symphonies
play out in real time
Quitely closing again her cupboard; a slice of hope in tiny hands
Tiptoeing away, another cold as daunting day; embracing, their child
Dirty dish water his hummingbird hovers, then fly's away; creaking steps
Self-conscious humble heart's gazing at the knots, amid her shoe lace
Misfits, another's Nobel prize nirvana's nightingale, to one day write ? Passing
Abandonments shuttered house accursed these ghosts reside; inherent, as cellared
Time's literature and he tossing their pages torn into the pyre while she quoting rhymes....
Parturient pan'handling at pathos bus stop sterile, less love her infants: Stigmata's, loaf of bread.
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