Life Is What You Make It
Birth naked as the day, I lay upon the floor
cover less, chill, eyes fluttering, closed, aware...
inward I stare, counting chest rises, in despair.
Fear of onward life is more than I can ignore.
Outside, a flutter of wings seeks to explore,
the haunting howl of wolf, mating calls taunt, beware,
both harbingers of death; I grasp, each breath of air,
sending ripples through a shaking fearful core.
Moonlight cloaks my form, and heaven guards my plight.
Covers tossed, comfort shorn, I search for tales
to return to me a bit of warmth and light.
A hoot, a yip, a melody, which prevails
to remind me of the paths beyond that invite,
for I am a dreamer tossed on dreams of death.
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