Birth pangs

Birth pangs

A baby's wail, a mothers cry
I used to shrug and wonder why-
Why is it that a shroud of pain,
Should serve to package a joyous gain?
Why be it so, that a sharpened knife -
Should serve to severe and release a life?

As time passed by and I killed my time,
Scrolling pages, supposedly sublime,
Of a book called life, when I paused to read,
A chapter small, that saw me bleed,
Thoughts and words that I strove to pen
To harvest joy from the fields of pain.

Poetry came in the midst of night,
On the crest of darkness, like a night owl in flight.
With eyes that saw on a canvas black,
A sculpted life, in relief stark.
And then I knew that you need a knife,
To pen the words that potray life.

Daneel Olivaw

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