This Birth was hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death. — T.S. Eliot
They all look quite like you at that age,
and dead like nothing at all,
a clot of purple-gray, sticky and wrapped with strong, black ribbons.
Feeling you leave in a gush of pain and red,
in the blackest and loneliest part of the night,
was a hard & bitter agony,
like giving birth,
giving birth to death.
Why were we led all that way, and never to see your face?
How could I do this again?
Death of the firstborn,
and God spares no one,
because why should we be passed over?
3.28.2006
Death of the Firstborn
Categories:
poetry
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)