Tags: transformation poems
Source: LittleNotebooks Little Orwell
You fell down
a small, fragile thing
spread out into nothing
upon the face of a vast, barren field
and there you stayed
a nothing
a no one
waiting
(& resting & trusting)
The storms watered you
and fed your slow-growing roots
as they climbed and coiled down deep in the earth
It was the storms that watered you
You were formless, empty
Pain and fire your daily bread
Smoke and ashes drew their delight from the burning of your facade
And you, gasping for air -
you could not feel the hands that slowly shaped you
You could not see the contours of your form
A new and ever-truer substance came forth
and drew its vigor from the earth below
Now you see yourself from a distance
An altogether unexpected sight
You see that you’ve become part of the field now
your roots have made a home down in the deep
You rise up from the earth,
and in your rising
you take with you the substance of the dirt
Nourished by the barren, empty wasteland
Enlarged by the merging of your forms
You rise as something altogether different
than the nothing, or the shape you took before
You rise up like a giant in the storm