Tobacco Hornworm, not the Tomato Hornworm. photo credit: BHD 2017

Samsara (022)

DHBogucki
DHBogucki
Jul 28, 2017 · 1 min read

Coffin of bran keeps you safe,
your death an unknown escape.
Ejected from the tree of life
you wait.

Bits of soil cover your case.
Lying patiently, the right moment
takes Its time, temperature
and moisture combine.

On this day a new universe
is born. Protection pushed
away by the gift of
vulnerability,

by the desire for light.
First feeding on yourself,
and then finding the
voids in the soil

you reach down into mother
grab onto her nourishment
tapping into her life-force
you begin

again. Rebirth an erasure.
An awakening into what
was once your grave,
now

cycle finds itself renewed.
Journey of the Ouroboros
rising from a single
seed.


Poem number 022 of 365.

This asked to be written about two to three months ago, but it lacked clarity. It sat there asking and asking, but I had to tell it to speak louder. Finally I read something amazing the other day. I wish I could remember what it was because this poem suddenly found it’s voice and spoke very loudly. Thank you to that poet whoever you were.

DHBogucki

Written by

DHBogucki

Artist, Writer, Tattooist Apprentice, Yoga Teacher, Find me on Instagram, and UnSplash under the same name. https://www.facebook.com/dhbogucki/

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