The Pontificators

Beautiful bedclothes
wrap me up warm
vanity mirror
shows where I’m torn
pictures of pain
stolen when born
blood on the bedclothes
cause me to mourn

Day turns to night
childless mother
weeps to forget
weeps to remember
bring me to morning
my son and my daughter
blood on the bedclothes
look for no other

Beautiful bedclothes
wrap me up please
body is aching
heart cannot breathe
cradle is empty
no mouth to feed
beautiful bedclothes
I surrender to thee

This entry was posted on Monday, October 5th, 2009 at 12:47 am and is filed under Naomi, Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.