Underneath the scars
That cover my skin 
And the fabric of my being within
Caked in the long extant scab that once was a collection of thin scrapes,
A faint glow causes disturbance in the mugginess.
My mind wanders in the fog of memories
My tongue and hopes are frequently stilled by the scars of past pains
Of my sister's vibrant light snuffed out, and the long silence that followed in her life
Of death's hands encompassing my neck, 
crushing my life force as I struggled to scream for help
Of the times of hopelessness that nearly destroyed me, body and soul
The salt crystals encasing my eyes are washed clean by simple joys:
Flower buds opening their eyes to the sun
Water droplets cascading from the wings of a heron
The sheen of rainbow light from silvery fish scales
The explosion of colors from a sunset
And the diamonds bejeweling the night sky
Of the soft fabric of my mother's sweater on my face
Of the warm tongue of my dog, 
as we lie next to each other by a fire on a winter evening
Of my sister's embrace that brings tears to my eyes
And this serves as food to the fiery fledging, 
wrapped in the layers of tule fog
Encased in the mist,
But growing stronger and stronger 
as I cultivate it with my hope
It has not yet fully taken flight,
But if you look past my downcast gaze,
Or pallid and placid face,
Or the simple straight line that often serves as my mouth,
And look into the core of my eyes,
You might see the powerful bird ready to soar;
It is the owl, who defies the darkness of night, 
And stops at nothing to find its goal,
Using the darkness to its advantage.
You might have seen it already, 
and I have felt that fledging stirring, 
It flutters within as I lunge at my opponent
Feeling my muscles stretching along my sides
And sweat cascading down my neck,
As I empty my excitement in a cleansing cry
After the satisfying clink of the fifteenth time my saber has hit her mask with right-of-way
Or you could have seen it
In the strokes of my paintbrush and pencil on the drawing paper
Or it came from all my family,
When we laughed together at the dinner table
I know it will erupt from my heart 
As God birthed it in Paul's and Peter's,
The bird will take flight, flames leaping off its wings
I'm almost there, 
ready to face down the night, 
I'm ready, 
So ready,
To draw my sword,
Lock my eyes on my target,
 and ignite
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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