Thinking Myself Unborn

Thinking myself unborn I can’t help Wondering what the State of non-being Must be like If opposites attract And that’s a Naturally occurring fact Then perhaps it Stands to reason Darkness is out Of season when Light comes pouring In like sweet Summer shower rains But not if Existence doesn’t matter And all is Nothing more important Than the unborn Dreams of many Not yet shattered Such as the Un-poetic poetry posing Like masquerading mannequins In storefront windows And songs unsung By the old Masters who were Never allowed to Create something new Because they too Were left unborn And every breath They never breathed Is still waiting Patiently for them In the airy Skies where birds Nest and fly And the leaves Bend and bow Knowing strangely somehow They’re not alone And when fall Comes calling them Back once more To the ground Whence they came They never complain No need to Explain to them The reason for Their own mortal Worth which is Nothing less than Their miraculous living Dying and gratifying Moment of pure Unimaginably timeless un-birth.