Truthfully
I have all the things,
More even
Than my fair share.
Still I don't feel full.

Secret joy
meets its sudden, bloody end
and I am left to carry
death
as intimately as
I once carried life.

The grief flows
unabating
in its bitter reminder
of what my arms
will never hold.

The ache of my body
hardens in my soul
as a question:

Where are you now
Creator of the life
I cannot save?