Marjorie H Morgan

Researcher - Writer - Playwright


Empty Cradle

| By Marjorie Morgan

Empty Cradle

They rocked in unison

both with an overwhelming sense of loss.

The wind whistling softly

down from the hills

seemed to surround and caress them

in a steady motion

back and forth

back and forth

back and forth.

Her eyes were wide open

she had looked everywhere

but never found the reason.

Sleep was a distant memory,

sleep was the enemy that assisted the evil ones.

She had slept that night so long ago

when the shadows crept in

the muffled cries were a part of her dream

her very last dream

her last dream

her last dream.

She awoke screaming and gasping

for the breath that seemed to be

being wrenched, torn, pulled out

of her body and

rushed away.

She reached out

but they slipped easily

from her and before her eyes were fully opened

they were in the distance

and the void shouted alertness into her body.

Aching, milk-filled breasts

pounded a reminder

a reminder

a reminder.

She looked and saw nothing

the empty steps that trampled her soul

resounded like gun fire in her burning mind

all that was left

was the empty cradle

rocked gently by the wind

its creaking was echoing her crying

isolated together

profound grief bound them in duplicated loss.

They never rested

never rested

never rested.

about the author

Marjorie H Morgan

Researcher, writer, playwright, journalist with an interest in the themes of history, society, identity, and home.