I Was Born A Poem.


I Was Born A Poem.



I was born a poem
bursting from between
the lines of my mother's
gateway to her womb,
creating an "O" as my head
popped with wonder from
the amniotic fluids into
the bitterly strange world.
Conceived in a
moment of passion,
much like all poems are,
I slowly developed lines
and curves of my own that
made up the body of work,
tiny fingers spreading
and grasping air that
would one day hold a pen
and then air my grasping
of the world around me.
Severed from her cord of life,
like a dangling participle,
I was set free,
and that too soon
dropped off,
and left its mark
a dimpled period
that noted the end
of my birth, and the
beginning of the next
sentence I would begin
........... my life
I was born a poem
and I cried out in wonder,
my first word a wail,
and my last words
many years from now
will howl with wonder too
at the passing of my
many chapters rendered
into scrapbooks of what was.

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