Life
Handling no tools to work the black
Soil in the sun-ripe dawn, I angled
Toward the gift. Newborn, the cold
Clouds and rain drenched winter, and
Broke me bleeding. The weeds reached
Taller and only a spark of life, was
Enough to survive.
I was alone on the edge of night, with
A dark sea all around me. Only God to
Approach, finally holding onto daylight.
Weathering the storm I came too, with
A laugh and grew fat and rich and a
Golden dress that adorned me..
The end does not stop. Foamy waves
Reach within my bones as the high
Tide is forever sleeping. To go on is
A gift wrapped in a future.
Copyright © Julie Heckman | Year Posted 2015
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