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Liquid Birth


Nothing at hand is foretold, it’s waiting to be chosen. Everything’s upon two paths, one is the pathway of indifference, the other’s the passageway of Love.

Within this, our heartrending time, the stars crawl on hands and knees from end to end, inching toward the sun of man. This arrangement of emptiness, mouths silent consonants in search of vowels to fill empty words the size of the ocean. The angels scour the floor of our living, touching their wings against the oily waters, their silence louder than tyranny and beckoning our decision.

It will be at the liquid birth of creation that the reverberations of our collective choices spring forth. Let us pray they seep across a new and loving humanity.


© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman


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