By Leanne Webber
I didn't realise how strong
I was until my hands were forced
and I had no other choice.
Then it started to come to me
more easily than I could
have ever imagined.
I finally saw the same solidity
in myself as I once saw
in the rock that I gathered
at Cerrig Llwyddion,
as it lay cold,
timelessly and sturdily
in my outstretched hands,
like a dismembered
part of my body.
Waiting to take
its first breath sometime
in the undetermined future,
toughening up through
thousands of days of suffering.
All amidst the milestones
and rites of passage to come,
interspersed with mere moments
of pleasure and joy.
More moments like these
are not promised,
yet I must not lose awareness
of the solidity of my centre,
as life bites through the rosy apple
flesh of my matrix form.
For the airy and elusive creator
is as substantial as the creation;
both are necessary.
Whilst my body
will one day decay,
from the first breath of creation,
my spirit was enkindled to last.
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