LABOR

The bitterest time before the birth

            are the minutes just before

when contractions push you madly

            into your final war.

Then fear up-rises in your heart

            as screams escape your soul,

“Am I going to make it through

            this agony and this woe?”

The pain has battered faith and hope,

            love hangs by a thread;

I’ve forgiven everyone their wrongs

            yet some still want me dead.

I cling to hope that truth exists,

            that wrong is never right;

I took my stand for what was good,

            but evil won each fight.

I ran the race with hobbled legs,

            with blinders on my eyes;

My prayers were always going up,

            but couldn’t pierce the skies.

They say the birth is now at hand,

            the crown they think they see,

but I’ve heard that word a thousand times;

            all that remains is me.

(c) August 25, 2007

Glenn Hall