Such Promise. Poem by Ann Beard

That birth should hold such promise
is pure wonder on its own.
The very act of each day waking,
Tempting seed, a new life sown.

And would that expectations falter,
emptiness, fill time and space.
What becomes of promise then,
to wake with heartache in its place.

No heart escapes the knowing grip,
the aching dread, a pulse that climbs
Sweet farewell kisses, liquid smiles
The last goodbye - so many times.

Here lies true hope, all soft and clean.
Pristine, between glib sheets of verse.
Beneath the light of change and chaos,
Never to have loved is worse.


March 2011