Poetry and Writes

I Am Born (POEM)

I am born on a windless day.
I feel something inside of me beginning to writhe.
It is not content anymore.
I smell the scent of fire.
I hear the membrane cracking, spewing lava through the fissures.
The molten blood streams all around me.
It puddles around my many feet.
I see a color vastly different from the one I have known.
It is like the color of my daydreams.
I scratch at the thinning film above my head.
Light envelops me.

My body is a glinting orange.
I slip through the leaves.
They flutter and conceal my entrance—glossy green confetti.
I slink to the waterfall.
My body is doused by its good graces.

There is a flock of ravens.
Their eyes are blazed with white.
Their plumage glints a dark purple ebony.
They speak to me about the stream in the east.
I speak to them of the canyons in the west.
We disagree on the terms of earth and sky.
They head north, the perpetual up.
I head south, where the grasses meander on their roots.