Saturday, September 23, 2017

Mixed metaphors ahead

It's tempting
to sit in the ashes
of the immolation of my marriage
within the perfect egg of survival
and never emerge.
Despite the warmth of the encouraging embers
and the certain mythical legend of rebirth,
the shell protects me.
Yet, my destiny is to be reborn,
to survive and grow and fly
What might emerge from the phoenix egg?
I suspect it is my truest self
a winged whole person
finally free of the baggage
and the pain and the damage and the betrayal,
shining whole, unmarred, a beacon
to self and others and God


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