The consequence of provenance,

and confidence in consciousness,

plus the growth of form.

New born I have the dapper,

to fritter, happy clapping,

the wrapping of my bones,

newly enthroned with sustenance,

as I increase in weight.

My fate was overturned,

by a yearning for a future,

reaching life anew,

with succor from a stew

of concocting minerals

that seep inside my blue,

so that there is transgression,

and the colours come to freshen,

poised on the brilliance,

the thrills and spills of overload

that toys my form’s new fancy.

On fire I feel a nancy

or perhaps a Clancy,

in rhyme that seals my poise,

a synaesthetic noise

shaking there in front of me,

not breaking stairs but running free,

ascending into providence,

autonomous with stimulus.

Can’t you see I’m drunk on words,

the third degree enlivens me,

sturdy here I climb new trees,

and make a den to settle in

fine fettle on the fens outside.

Tears all dried I burst with joy.

Yes it does deploy the suffering

that has quivered in my aura,

when i was told to die

by the voices shrieking ‘why’,

but now their force is dry

and refocused on compassion.

I thrash them with my love for life

and overcome their mournful strife

with a new populous less ominous

abundant with opulence.

So welcome,

Here I Am.



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