He visits the well in early morning,
before the day opens for business.
With a battered tin cup
he dips out words and fragments
to write on the pages
of his unlived life.
Ink comes from the blood
he’s squandered, paper
from the depths of loss.
He scrawls with intention
and from the silence gives voice
to the birth wail
of his soul.
Reading of “Birth Wail” with music by Seu Jorge.
I am ever grateful for your freely giving Don. Men should not fear the birth wail but hear, receive, rejoice, let go and give voice to Praise for the new born sons and daughters of the Soul and of the Sun.
Don, out of all the poems you have written that I am aware of, this may be the saddest one – the birth wail of the soul in an unlived life. Your words are a wake-up call even for those of us who think we have lived our lives.