Today she bore, in pain endured, a life into the world. Body and soul torn and twisted, reaching, grabbing, holding. Arms that strained, a face of suffering, a sad form in long travail. This woman's cries, her screams and wails, stained my soul with shrieks. Hear her wailing, rythmic torment, a throng of agonized moans. They are thrown into the air. They are hurled into the night. They are alive. They attack you and tear into your heart. They mark you for life. With much pain will she endure childbirth. Sweat and toil, the price paid. This day he bares the load of work, makes life in the world. Yield the knee, bend the back. Sweat and toil, daily grind. Arms that strain, a face determined, a tired form in long travail In silence, by the sweat of his brow. The expected right, the silent drudge, the man works. This man who labors in silence daily, no screams, no wails, no shrieks. See his work, and work, and work. Daily, rythmic stroke, Sweat and toil, the price to pay. Together they make life
Reason for writing:
I'm curious to know what others think of my poetry.
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Matt Slick.