Unborn Poem by mark anthony st. rose

Unborn



O Unborn that yearns and turns within me,
awaiting that day of awakening;
that day of sweet reckoning,
where it touches the world with uniqueness,
and fingers of gold sparking sweetness,
with the aroma of time perfuming an age,
its mere existence turning the page
of violent circles and brutish forces,
love within with all power divorces,
and light is sprung divinely from a well
of unexpected sources unknown premature cell.
O Unborn that yearns and turns within me,
awaiting that day of awakening,
that sweet day of reckoning.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success