Only one layer of skin
stands between her and destitution.
Having risked and lost,
over and over,
cyclical impotence,
can she proffer seed
to one whose will could crush the offering?
Heart bleeds sterility,
tosses back her love
aborted;
womb withers and writhes in its laborious pursuit
and gives birth to stillborn hopes.
All she wanted was to be loved in return –
but contractions breed ignorance,
and impregnation defies dreams.
Arms remain empty,
gestation begets ripening rage.
Hers was impotent implantation;
her love will only deliver
the wind…
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 
Your photos are always lovely, but this one is really gorgeous!
Thank you very much!
You’re writing my heart today.
I guess the human condition means that we are all in the same boat from time to time, right?
Melody, I am without words. When a poet touches the heart, then he or she has met the mark. 🙂
Thanks Eric! 🙂 That’s the highest mark of praise, isn’t it?
brilliant beauty in the scared sacredness and scarcity!
Hmmmm – sounds like a poem! 🙂