Moment is wasted, as always in waiting,
in between breaths, the lowering
of eye-lids to turn away each second.
Acceptance comes easy from the beginning,
into the doctor's open red hands
from the mother's womb, mouth open,
ready to sing.
And at the end, will the acceptance
be as simple? Into the flame's open red hands
from the grave's womb, mouth open,
ready to scream.