David Burton Richardson

Rookie (13 January 1961)

Nine Months - Poem by David Burton Richardson

Nine months of nourish from Mothers Womb
That place of echo warmth
We cling to life through another
A place where fear is not yet born
And hate and vice is but a hurt away
But there will come that awful day
When we see light, the Trees
And the pain and sorrow that we will find
Where life is but a bitter sweet sorrow
When we learn that there is no tomorrow
That chord of life is our being
That Blood vesseled Pink and Red
That fearsome push, and push, and push
And yet we lose the fight, we cannot win
And life is born from within
This World is now our lonely place
We have no warm and special space
To the World we are born from that sacred place of Womb
That special place of warmth and free from thunder
And life was a warm and liquid place
Now we fight till bitter end
And pain and sorrow will be our friend
Until our life is through
And the Womb like place of ever peace
Will be a sad and lonely place
Its just began, this life of hurt and sorrow
A place of loss and hurtfull gain
Each day is but a bitter pain
And we long for that echo warmth
Our very special place.

Topic(s) of this poem: Life

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, March 13, 2014

Poem Edited: Friday, March 14, 2014

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