It's killing me,
Being born is killing me.
Pain stabbing as muscles stretch
And bones grow.
Opening new eyes, it hurts.
The light shines bright.
Air is chill on new skin.
Breath is warm and steamy.
Confusion and lost memories
Are abundant in this mind.
I am my own creation.
I was made from the dust
That filled my dieing lungs that day.
Faithful servants gather to
Welcome my new body,
Though my mind is older then the foundations of the earth.
I am the thirteenth in the line of my-selves.
Look out, the evil has been born again.
A contest entry
- reborn by Misty Sea.
470 points, ended May 13, 2007, 15 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Cute write- a bit like a story that could be expanded. I liked this.
Thank you for the entry and best of luck in the contest.
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