A poem about the hope of beginnings and the fear of the end
|The birth of a baby, is like the color of the sky at daybreak,
Subtle purples, broken by golden rays,
The hope of new beginnings.
Is that why we like to bury our faces in the sweet,
fresh, soap scented hair of new born babies?
To breathe in their newness and their freshness?
All that hope!
In between, we are stuck.
We crave the beginning and fear the end,
The uncertainty of “the beyond”,
Reminders, that there is an end.
(Writer’s Cramp Prompt 12/08/2020 : Write a poem or short story using the following (in bold) somewhere in the text: "color of the sky at daybreak")