The Passage of My Birth
Inch past spiteful inch I crawl my way out of this hole.
Whilst this screech columned cylinder connected to
my soul sustains a silent scream, residing incandescent in
my chest. And fledgling veins support my effort for early release.
Flexible nails sit upon freshly formed fingers, each
numb with the ache of force and trying. And though I
have toiled an age, I am still beginning. I must remain
centric. Of one world and one importance. Singular.
Or this tomb will be my elegie. A damned soul offered
no act of contrition. This womb. This suffocating wet,
assails the skin about my strengthening heart. And
burned eyes with ripped sight guide my way passed the
asphyxiating roots of fear clawing at me. Restraining me.
Molasses to my conviction. Dismissed compassion gouging
and scratching at my clenched mouth. With only travails and
constant effort knowing I take this journey alone.
Nourished shafts of light, encircling the very darkness
that envelops me, stream toward my upturned crown.
Like blades of white hot stilettos carrying messages from
my future
And, my universe pushed before me, finally breaches
this foul hole. Releasing mitigated screams of outrage and
indignity at the defiled act carried out against me. I strived
for salvation but instead was born
Copyright © Terry Robinson | Year Posted 2015
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