Baby Mine, a blackout poem

Every delivery room has an orchestra of noises: groans, cries, screams, yells, songs, whispers, and cheers.

The cry of a heart, no matter the occasion, is universal. Recognized. Known. Understood. It runs deep and lands raw.

              Joy or sorrow.  Love or hate.

              Mercy or bitterness.  Fight or fright.

The mother in the backdrop story lost her child, and her heart cried. The mother in the blackout poem gained a child, and her heart cried. It’s the music of living.

The concerts of life flow from the rhythm of our hearts. It is a beautiful and gut-wrenching sound that brings depth and meaning to our life. Live and love hard. Moments make music.

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