Infertility

How can one mourn
a future that will never be?
My un-conceived
yet pre conceived
idea of completeness.

The crimson rage that
marks an end to every hope.
I cannot bear to look
at those babies of yours.

Not because I begrudge you
this ultimate blessing,
but that it causes
an unbearable anguish of being.

It haunts my dreams;
colours my every waking second.
Never stork white, but elephant grey
that never forgets

The dream.
I mark the bell chimes.
Every new year
a landmark of failure.

by Sue Stone

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