Before You Were Born
There must be
an entry point
somewhere in the fabric
of being, perhaps
an unhealed
wound in the bark
of an ancient tree
deep in a primordial
forest or gouged
in the cliff face
of a remote shoreline
where southern ocean
gales pound the continent,
or somewhere quiet,
unobtrusive, hidden
from view in a corner
of the self where it has
been all your life.
You feel its cool breath
blow across your face
much like when a slight
breeze comes out
of a cave when standing
near its mouth.
There are days now
when you are there
near its gape
when a weariness
takes hold and you peer
into a dark nothingness
at the very centre
of yourself, see it begin
to slowly dissolve
mind and form,
welcoming you back
to that place
where you were
before you were born.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2025
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