The Gift

Creativity compressed into craters of despair

How does one heal with a nature frail

Cacophonous misery

On every (pleading, I only have two) hand?

Birdsongs used to be path to relief

Outside pleasures

Like lakes, trees all treasures

Even wind-chafed skin, at least then

You knew you were still alive

But death, if not in body, then mind and soul

Sneakily sneaks creepily creeps unawares, zombie-like

One day aroused and passionate

The next, questioning life and its escape.

PUUUUUUSH!!!!!!!

Said the midwife to the tribulations, expectant mother-to-be —

It’s almost here! He’s almost here! She’s almost here!

Your effort is needed here!

I sat back and watched as my dreams crowned

Vision stretched…Don’t give up, the Angels whispered…

The night was long, interminably long

Before day broke Beauty — My Lord, what Beauty — lay

Before me all glory

And I knew, I just knew if I lived strong

My life would not be in vain.

Copyright 2016 — Myla Grier