Waiting for my Wings

I was born to wander low to the ground

Always analyzing

Stepping lightly in this world

Not making much of a sound

Nor calling much attention to myself

Yet I was/am noticed.

Always aware of everything around me

I never missed a thing

Observing each being passing through my world

Always listening with the intent to understand

Alert to every predator

I always had this spark inside me that I can’t explain

That there was a bigger plan for me

Some greater purpose or mission was always inside my head

I don’t understand

How a fire can be planted

In such a helpless creature

So many predators wanting to eat me

What are my chances of surviving and thriving anyway?

I try to stay out of sight.

Why would I have this strong feeling

Of a greater purpose,

If this is all there is?

I eat away at all the healthy leaves

Listen, Watch, and Learn

Preparing myself for whatever is next

It hasn’t come.

And I’ve been here a long time

Living through hell

I am so very tired

Harrowing events have shaken my world to the very core

Challenges, that’s what I used to call them

Stones thrown in my path

Obstacles to climb;

Forks in the road

Forced decisions where the outcome wasn’t clear

Insurmountable it seemed. Seems.

I saw another like me today.

He was wrapping himself up in a cocoon of silk

It seemed like a shroud for the dead

Like preparing your grave and lying in it

Waiting to die

But knowing death’s shadow would come quickly

I watched all day as he worked the intricate blanket

So delicate and fine at first

Then it seemed impenetrable

Until no hint of him remained

I should have talked to him

Before he went in

To know what he was feeling

If he knew this dark despair

And heart-wrenching sadness

I needed to know if that was the impetus

That finally made him give up

And shut himself completely from the world

- did the pain just become unbearable?

- were his wounds too deep to heal?

- was he tired of screaming inside when outside he couldn't make a sound?

- did the loneliness become too cold?

- had he given his all in his last fight?

- Was there nothing left?

- did he feel so hopeless that he was already dead inside?

When he last stood at the mirror, did he see his reflection?

Tonight, I began my own spinning

With every strand, another tear

The tears melted the silken strand to bind them together like glue.

And the darker the cocoon, the smaller the space; the better I felt

Knowing death was near, was a welcoming thought

With each strand I spun, I let go of a piece of the burden

The tighter everything grew around me

My pain began slipping away.

Finally

Complete Darkness.

Rest

Breathe

I’m floating free for the first time ever in my lifetime

No fear, no predators, no worry, no pain.

For once in my life, I am not afraid.

And I wait.