#67. And We Bore Witness to a Birth and a Death…

When they’re cloaked, they do seem so far apart.

But today, I saw them both seated

side by side; a birth and a death.

Different, yet same, when unsheathed.

And in the sacred, solemn hour,

down the corridors of death,

in a room with walls dark and grey,

we sat and held cold, feeble, tired hands.

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#4. The Widower.

An ordinary full moon
Not a whisper of warning
No signs to alert me
Night came in stealth, so suddenly
As I lay here, deep in sleep
Beside the keeper of my heart
And in her womb nestled my unborn seed.

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