02-04-2014, 06:28 AM
edit #1 (tectak, true, billy)
A human finger moves us, after all
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus,
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You mildly fuss
then slip back into artificial sleep;
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace fine lines on palms, your future: grand
achievements, escapades, sweet love affairs...
your secret strengths read in each tiny hand.
Although our place does not dictate our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.
Original
A human finger moves us. After all
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl,
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You turn and fuss,
then slip back into artificial sleep,
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace your palms and tell your future, grand
achievements, escapades and love affairs,
your secret strengths held in your tiny hand.
Although we strive to justify our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.
Critique welcome.
A human finger moves us, after all
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl.
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus,
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You mildly fuss
then slip back into artificial sleep;
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace fine lines on palms, your future: grand
achievements, escapades, sweet love affairs...
your secret strengths read in each tiny hand.
Although our place does not dictate our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.
Original
A human finger moves us. After all
the weeks you grew inside your mother's womb,
arriving early with an anxious bawl,
I count the possibilities of doom
and triumph on your toes, my abacus
as monitors and regulators beep
and flash your vital signs. You turn and fuss,
then slip back into artificial sleep,
your dreams a mystery of graphing flares.
I trace your palms and tell your future, grand
achievements, escapades and love affairs,
your secret strengths held in your tiny hand.
Although we strive to justify our worth,
we cannot earn the luck or curse of birth.
Critique welcome.
billy wrote:welcome to the site. make it your own, wear it like a well loved slipper and wear it out. ella pleads:please click forum titles for posting guidelines, important threads. New poet? Try Poetic DevicesandWard's Tips