Yesterday, a friend put a wonderful poem onto her blog, concerning the experience of loss. Her words were so awesome that they made me revisit some poems I wrote back in 2011, about the same topic.
The three poems are part of a series, linked by the common emotions of birth and loss. The titles of each poem depicts the years in which events happened and each poem has its own rhythm & pace.
It's the coldest March on record
when I painfully make my way,
from restricted confines, out into the light;
I am the one who will stay.
Chill weather suits ice-cold lessons,
that have caused you to panic and pray
for someone to cling to, with motherly pride;
so I am the one who will stay.
Towered tiers of dark-ringed worry
shall be lost in moments of play.
Fear shall be faded by baby smiles;
for I am the one who will stay.
Your eyes tell of those who have left you;
all love-ties invisible this day.
From somewhere unseen, warm whispered words;
'This is the one who will stay.'
Bright day turns darkest grey, as my soul-mate's light start dimming.
Stark, creeping fear, when told cold-clear, 'We will try to save your wife.'
Stunned confusion...blood transfusion; battered senses slowly spinning;
corridor pacing; heartbeat racing, as battle rages for her life.
From faint within, a heartfelt cry:
'Breathe deep; believe...she will not die.'
Hands held taut-tight; faith, former bright, fades fleet & fast with facts reviled.
Cold doctor's room, words forged in gloom; invasive phrases pound poor ears:
'Ectopic pregnancy...' 'Not meant to be...' 'You will never have a child...'
Hope's light now smashed; cruelly dashed on fated rocks and drowned in tears.
From deep within, a heartfelt song:
'Breathe deep; believe...you must be strong.'
'91 & '92
Mid '91; tunnel's end light, for three months long a hopeful shade of bright.
Scared to ponder names, for fears upon a well-trod path are seldom still.
At home, upon a stormy night in May, our precious, nameless 'bump' is stole away.
Raging anger, cooled by hugged words tender shared, 'We tried...our very best.'
In deep mind's eye, an image misty-lined,
of infant boy and girl with eyes pure kind.
Hands held, faced front to light:
cherubs clasped forever into wishful parents' minds.
Late '92; nurses' hard toil - worry's lined traces, bare hid on angel's faces.
Skilled surgeon's hands upon my shoulder, 'We'll do everything we can.'
Nicotine-craved pacing to fog-bound time; swiftest mind, incessant racing,
yet nightmare scenes breed silent prayers, cast unto all faiths; 'Guide them through.'
Grand entrance made to still, hush breath,
blessed blanket wrapped in wishful white.
Shared smiles in trembling, thankful hands:
gilt-golden dawn for heartfelt light.
©Kev Milsom, 2011
All poems are copyrighted to Kev Milsom and can also be found published in 'The Sea of Ink', a creative writing anthology, published by 'Ink Pantry Publishing' and available on Amazon.