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.