Birth

This cannot save me from my lungs of fire,
Burning houses cradled in a fence of
None. This cannot save me from tires piled to
Heaven, from systemic hate, indifference,

Rattles on the tail poised to strike. Not from
Self-congratulation, nor self-censure.
This cannot save me from a shelf, from a
Quiet little corner where I can dream

Out the rest of my breath. It cannot stem
The cravings of a body or mind, or
Treat us any kinder than the prospect
Of death, that silent magistrate and law.

But it can live beyond that final test.
It can go on and sow its seed in the
Fertile belly of the Earth, feed the dreams
That churn within her breast, till she gives birth.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s