Wolfula

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 26, 2018

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Submitted: May 26, 2018

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As caterpillar is to its own butterfly

a tadpole to its own frog, 

I am just a me,

to what they call a you,

a you,

to the me of them.

I can change myself,

I can swim while I fly,

free,

I can live, die, blow out candles,

put myself to bed,

as getting it all out,

is getting it all back in,

away from my head.

 

I can change the world,

I can change,

  an acorn to an oak,

an egg to bird,

a plant to care for,

into a flower,

as the dirt is to its earth.

 

Who made who,

which came first,

a flower that grows up,

next to the birds nest,

high up in the tree,

or the seed,

as life is,

to its birth.

 

We are we,

owing nothing to ourselves,

as only is to one,

to another is everything,

giving it back,

from where we fell,

for others to see,

standing above,

feeling beneath.

 

How we grow,

shape shift from a one God-size moment,

to another,

paying forward our time,

with each stage,

as becoming is to laying still,

dormant.

 

As a heart to this body,

the killer of myself is,

 me,

as my mind is to my soul,

the grower of life is,

to change, 

my own mercy.

 

 

As my love is to finding its home,

my invitation sent out to me, to start over,

  moving forward is to accepting my past,

long gone passages of time,

counting back,

as lost moments are chances,

decisions are to keeping track.

 

As this beautiful opportunity is,

to knowledge,

understanding is to acceptance.

 

Forgiveness is not remembering this growing strain.

My peace is to pain,

what war is to love.

We all fall.

Life is what we make of our imagination,

as creating is to our obligation.

 

The way our bones grow,

to the way our second set of teeth come in,

our mane,

the sheeth of our sharp body;

sliding like a weapon in and out of our daily habit,

the way everything one days stumbles out,

dusting away from time,

reason or doubt.

 

Tolerating this enlightened stage,

as a snowflake,

to the tongue.

 

Unique, beautiful, and one of kind,

dissovling away,

as a smile is to my face,

from the heaven above.

 


© Copyright 2018 Dr. Acula. All rights reserved.

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