Writing in the morning- The miracle of life
I sat in darkened forest, I sat in shade and silence. Far off from prying science, ambivalence and strife.
Often, to think objectively- to look at our lives and see, we need to take a step back
I prayed no man came near me, I prayed no man did find, That infant softly sleeping; The miracle of life.
And when we do, when I do, I find my authentic voice. Away from all the noise and interference- I recognize myself and I am a child again.
The child of lucid dreaming, half dead and half asleeping. Who still heard angels singing, with heaven in his eyes.
Though new to life and breathing, young child knew life’s true meaning. That planting and that reaping, Is no reason to cry.
We live and we die, and perhaps though we forget this in adulthood, a forgotten promise sealed on our lips by the cavern angels hand- children know that life ends and does not.
As was born and now living, all men, both up and sleeping, both knowing and not are drinking death’s sweet and deadly wine.
And between now and then, all we can do- all we owe ourselves is to live.
Written in my Upper sixth year of high school, at 17
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