Awareness
She Awoke
in Darkness,
day after day,
even on
the Brightest of Days.
Feeling like
an amorphous
Blob,
overhearing Passersby
commenting
to each Other
that She
needed to come
Out of Her Shell.
It felt like a
slow Death,
as if she were
consuming
Her own Body,
day-by-creeping-day.
One torturous day
She felt Her Self
breaking into
brittle pieces,
crack-by-crack.
She began
One Last
Striving Struggle,
One Last
Desperate,
Dangerous Dangling
over the
Disaster of Her
Falling.
But instead of
Falling
She Became
Aware.
Aware of the
Besotted Beauty
of Her
Sun-Orange
Wings.
And She Flew.
Are You Aware
of
Your Wings?
So often lines from our poems skim across one another's:...for instance, from my poem Sunata--
"But I—held fast
in whatever plane this be—
am absolutely certain
that when my cage of thought is broken open,
this bird will fly."
Loved this poem "Awareness"