Transformation

I am the baby ostrich

in love comforted, in power I cry.

Growing into the bat, I'm blind but learning to fly.

As the chameleon, nothing do I show ...

radical change makes the tortoise feel slow.

I reluctantly engage the cosmic game.

Don't you know only change stays the same?

and each wondrous blessing that feels so right

will be tempered by some mortal fight.

Torn between desperate freedom cries

and the nourishing light of love,

which through her touch and eyes,

is dispensed from above.

Like our delicate fingers

our minds and bodies mesh.

This moth is drawn to each particle

the light of her soul and body of her flesh.

Upon some great transformation,

the caterpillar crawls along the border

of great change

from the energy of all order.

The soul of this phoenix is crucified daily

but reborn again ...

Subtly but surely

my broken spirit will mend.