1. Where had I been before I was born?
I had been nowhere
Before I was born on earth.
Now God made me 'I'.
2. Where had you been before you were born?
You had been nowhere
Before you were born on earth.
Now God made you 'you'.
3. Where had he been before he was born?
He had been nowhere
Before he was born on earth.
Now God made him 'he'.
4. Where had she been before she was born?
She had been nowhere
Before she was born on earth.
Now God made her 'she'.
5. Where had they been before they were born?
They had been nowhere
Before they were born on earth.
Now God made them they’.
Enslaving chains and wilderness pains
are broken on healing heavenly domain
plus graceful throne, envisioned.
Method upholds this marauding madness
aflicting us on earthly journeys through
wounded wilderness, deadly disdain
and frighful famine; distressing
humankind and nature.
Twisted minds and wicked souls
torment humankind on this earthly
journey through birth, life and death.
Yet, we came with nothing; and with
nothing, we depart to earth's dust.
Hideous hypocrisy darkens love to
hide this greatest reality from heaven's
green pastures, meadows and
river bed, unchained.
We follow this river path to oceans
lighted by divine mercy and unending
salvation; healing broken hearts and
bleeding, lost souls.
Unwanted – I am a constant reminder of your pain
She gave birth to a beautiful little boy
No pain, no sadness, all he brought was pure joy
A new life into this world, for her to love and to hold and call your very own
Her biggest wish was to have more children, her little boy’s clone
Pity she didn’t know that it would be her biggest woe
A horror memory engraved in her heart and soul, a memory she will never be able to let go
If she knew, would she have still gone through following her heart’s desires?
I don’t believe so, and those who do, are all liars
Two years later she couldn’t wait for the birth of her second baby
This time around, she expected a little girl, but the wait was driving her crazy
This little baby just didn’t want to let go and come out to bloom
Two weeks late after the due arrival she decided to leave the womb
Excruciating labour pains for hours is all she felt
Tears streaming down her cheeks while screaming in agony for help
Instead of giving her a caesarean, or calling a doctor, she was told to be silent
The little new-born girl was coming out bridge, large, but no giant
The new-born tore her open from side to side
She lost so much blood giving birth, she could have died
Nurses took the baby and called the doctor
Who only arrived a day later and simply gave her pain killers, his carelessness shocked her
She didn’t want to see or hear her new-born for days
This little baby girl left her in a constant daze
The baby was to blame for her pain
The baby was to blame that she may never have babies ever again
The baby was to blame that she was left alone in a pool of blood
To scream and suffer with so much tears, almost causing a flood
With no one there to ease her pain, no doctor, no friend, no husband, left alone in vain
The baby was to blame for her dismal future which will forever remain
Yet, days later she called this child ‘’Desire’’
Funny, that one’s biggest desire could turn out to be your biggest heart’s regret fire
For this poor baby girl was once wanted
But once she greeted this world, she was immediately unwanted
Weeks passed, months passed, she loved and cared for a baby girl
But in her mind, she was always reminded of the hell she caused her, this little pearl
Decades passed, the baby grew older into a young precious lady
But still, she could not forgive and forget, she had to tell this child what she did to her as a baby
When the child reached her mid-twenties she decided to tell her of the birth from hell
And confessed that she didn’t want anything to do with her for days after the painful spell
She decided to tell her because the child suffered from depression
Showed signs of a cold heart and unlovable, unwanted, signs of death obsession
But her confession didn’t change the child’s behaviour
What was done to the new-born decades earlier will leave a lasting scar forever
The feeling of being unwanted, left alone and unloved, no matter how long
That loneliness and empty feeling the child will always carry that burden along
It almost seemed to make her happy, taking revenge on her own child, maybe
To remind her daughter on a regular basis of the pain she had caused her as a baby
The regrets that she carries for giving birth and wanting a second child
The regrets that she has still grows very deeply and wild
This baby is now 40, and it is me
Three weeks until I turn 41 I was reminded yet again of all the pain I caused her, she is still not free
If I am so unwanted, a constant reminder of your pain
Why then, does God not take me away from your again?
Why can’t I just die to ease your horror memories and unforgettable, forgivable pain?
Why does God keep me on this earth in your presence if all you want is revenge over again?
You want to get me back for what I did to you in your womb
You want to hurt my heart and health as much as you can to revenge your pain memories until my doom
Once Wanted
Became Unwanted
I am a constant reminder of your misery and pain
Why must I be alive? Why does God not take me away? What do you have to gain?
by Jeph Johnson
Why do they always think
we want to know
how many pounds and ounces
a newborn baby is,
yet they never report
the circumference
of the mother's vagina
for reference
so we can compare?
I sat at my desk and rubbed my eyes,
Rocking back and forth in my grey
Office chair. The coffee I drank caused my loins to
Burn so I stood up to take a leak.
Passing my bedroom mirror, I saw
My profile and noticed that
My chest was round and peacockish.
The burning moved from my groin
To my right hand. I grabbed an
Unfinished volume of my thoughts from the
Shelf and peeled back the skin. I found
My place (as I often do) and navigated
My Pilot across the strict ruled page.
Black streams of thought formed like
A fetus in the womb, kicking my insides.
My breathing was fast, then slowed to the
Rhythm of my heartbeat. I pushed.
What was on the inside was coming
out. I looked down at my son. My hand was
Limp and my chest concaved.
I am overcome with sorrow.
I do it again tomorrow.
Greedy, tiny hands covered in fresh flesh
Fingers without wrinkles
Stretched out to the sky
Attached to hungry hands
That grasp potential
Gentle, caring hands of a child, covered in dirt
Fingers that have learned to hold
Wrapped securely around a mother’s
Attached to innocent hands
That grasp new life
Angry, tentative hands, covered in bruises
Fingers that curl into a fist
Searching for justification
Attached to trembling hands
That grasp reality
Responsible, organized hands, covered in calluses
Fingers that memorize positions on a keyboard
Searching for confirmation
Attached to the hip of authority
That cannot grasp satisfaction
Hands, that are no longer owned, filled with formaldehyde
Fingers tucked neatly together
Hidden from the sky
Attached to empty hands
That grasp death
Silence
Not allowed to speak
From the moment of my birth
They stitched my mouth
So I never could speak.
whether in angst or sorrow or bliss,
our tears are like the ice
that melts off mountains
to form new rivers and streams.
the sound of a symphony,
the wail of a newborn baby,
the anguished weeping heard
in between church prayers
at a funeral service,
the dreamy fixed gaze
in the eyes of a woman,
holding her great grandchild
for the first time.
reading the handwritten
love sonnet from a beloved...
and sometimes,
just the perfection
and sychronicity felt with
the sight of a mere sunrise or sunset
that touches the heart
and reminds us of what beauty is....
or the remnants of a life...
even a death,
after the fury
of mother nature has spoken
truth of powers
that we mere human beings
know nothing of.
It is those things
and those things only
that we continue on this journey for.
the journey we call life,
that is welded and weaved
with the tears
of all human beings
who ever walked the earth.
all human beings
who have cried the same tear,
in moments of happiness, sadness....fear,
an inseparable kinship,
an anchor between,
it's that "something" we reach for,
that's there, but unseen.
the human experience, collectively,
shares many emotions while we're here,
and this fabric called life weaves it's tapestries best,
...with its invisible thread of "the tear".
*****
2015, January