On Childlessness

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On Childlessness

I’ll never know success
As counted as a thing
I’m not particularly happy with things
Not more cheerful with luxury

Our share of morning
Comes most often with belonging
And special souls as passing stars
I admit to lose and gain is ecstasy

I’ll never know in limp listening
Of a lonely lifetime
What it makes to know defeat
And tasting it so personally

To those who have abandoned us
And to those who could not understand
I’ll never know success of intimacy
Like some others do so spontaneously

I’ll be the descendent of a witness
I’ll be the selflessness lost in moments
That were forever eternal presents
I know I won’t be remembered
I’ll have no living legacy.

7 thoughts on “On Childlessness

    • That’s the poet’s dream I suppose. Though it may have to take AI becoming fond of human relics of art for this to come to pass for us.

      • I was thinking about that and you’re right but maybe there will come a day, when we are long gone, things will come full circle. I don’t know. I do love poetry. I wasn’t meant to live in this era, but I am here, so hmm…

      • Yes it truly is a fantastic art form, I’m not trying to take anything away from it xD Writers are historians in a way too.

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