Life: an engagement. Expulsion from
blissful blindness into committed breath,
always an inhale to be exhaled, always the drum
of a heart only silenced by death.
I know memory is a fickle thing; nonetheless
I recall being taken from the drowsy suspension
between pre-existence and life possess,
sentenced to birth's perverse ascension.
I was never wiser than in my foetal state,
for the silence and newness of my unexposed flesh,
for the silence, the blindness, the solitude innate...
Birth is the ailment from which I convalesce.
Wondrous is the void of peaceful nonexistence,
wherein life has not yet tarnished the lives that will be,
from which I was taken with brutish insistence;
exposed, I had lost the essence of me.
