Advent, day six…

Before everything, was there nothing?

Before we were conceived, before seed, before egg,  before cells divided- nothing?

Or was a space waiting, like an empty womb?

Those of us with faith, and those of us without- we live in the same darkness.

We all wait for light.

 

 

Unpregnant

 

In the corner of my gaze something moved

I blinked

Reminded of almost imperceptible stars

In sky almost black like bruises

Punched through with points of light

 

Did I form you like an idol from some ancient river bed?

Did I raise you up on a pole?

Are you just déjà vu

For the deluded last few

Will science yet prove us all fools?

 

But the night whispers

Mist of breath on puckered skin

Like the scent of sea to a sailor

It speaks of a yearning

For all those words unpoemed

Paintings not yet painted

Songs not yet sung

Reeds still to be fluted

Strings still to be strung.

 

The unpregnant womb

Is still waiting.