Pregnant WomanA Poem by Rosalind Gale
Bursting, I thud onto the fullest of all pathways -
Near empty room with only dust, blank walls, Sealed porch, square built. In my yard, rain drenches and drenches. Full of heart and observing all the world. Near bloomed roses, Inhaling their sweetness, a red perfume. I am alone. The children of others, screaming, wanting. They annihilate me. No. The life inside sews me up with silence - Everything can happen. The sun peeks - curled hands around my neck, as a cord tightens. Shining expressions, and my lover gone away, someplace. © 2014 Rosalind GaleFeatured Review
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Added on January 23, 2013Last Updated on July 6, 2014 Author
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