The blood that slips from velvet womb
And slithers down in rivulet’s tomb
To find the earth and linger there,
Long after days of warmth and fair.

She notices how much she bleeds;
How time and youth and lust recedes.
She crumples, then, upon the ground
To follow blood in death abound.

Her repose spent, her visions’ fade,
The dancing ceased, the piper paid,
Her singing voice in silent quell,
The ringing of division bell.

She wonders about youth’s delight -
The timing pure, the essence ripe -
And mourns for moments never sung
How living ends and death’s begun.

When bleeding womb shall weep no more,
But find itself at Heaven’s door -
When giving birth comes once again,
When broken promises will mend.

How every second sweeps toward bliss,
The reprieve of a blessing’s kiss.
How morning comes in sweet delight;
How dawning Sun dispels the Night.

In crumpled mass, she breathes anew,
A Faerie dance upon the dew,
A bloodless life of certainty
Resides in this eternity.

12/17/2009

Posted on 12/17/2009
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie