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.
Nov 11, 2010
Nov 11, 2010 at 11:31 PM UTC
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.