Birth
Birth is not about high and low
It’s a sacred entrance and a level plateau
Where the engine of the mind turns on
Bringing the dangers of a perpetual spawn
Birth may become death in disguise
When awareness fails to button up and rise
It cannot happen until desires dry
With desires, we walk or run and cannot fly
Birth is the seed of existence
Of which we’re a temporary happenstance
Time’s an asset not worth a squander
It never returns as we travel yonder
Birth is real when we finally arrive
At the door of the moment, we come alive
Through birth in which death’s left far behind
Along with the swirling winds of the mind