Rising

Like a warm loaf

On a slowly turning winters eve.

Sitting. Still. Window sill. Warm sun.

It has begun.

Taking leave

From my

Seated place

Alongside this scenic, arduous

Road.

Kicking out

My legs.

Muscle stretch and yawn.

I am changeling,

Unsteady and unsure

On eager feet.

I am heartbeat. Beating.

I am jarred door.

Unhinged and

Swinging in the spring breeze.

Reading this book

As I write each page.

Dog eared and laughing.

Crushed spine and crying.

I am chapters unfolding

Burnt and bleeding pages.

Edges tested by time.

I am unrest

Settling into itself.

Dust on a shelf

Fanned off by the

Zephyr

Stirring within.

The west wind

Blowing in,

Releasing me.



So this is what it feels like to be free.



So this is life calling me.



And so I rise.

The Pheonix

In the freshness of youth.

Through the cycle of years.



I am reborn and

Being.