The strength to stand admist the throngs of pain is growth of identity
Yet to be inflicted, causes us to sharpen our focus as we become one with God.
Failing to realize that the death of me is the rebirth of me, I yield it all to Thee.
For I'm forever encircled in a land mine of enemies ,not foreign but allies it seems.
I'm awaiting, not the ambush, but friendly fire to explode with bombs of cruelty
And like a moth to a flame of flickering light, I'll dance in fluttering harmony
To the rhymthic sounds of my own heartbeat ,I'll sway with the pulse of death.
Awaiting for love to strike it's blow ,to kill with a kiss of hpocrisy of cares
I'll move beyond the fire of pain ,casscading on the wings of peace. Shouting ever so triumphantly,"O death where is thy sting"!
To love me is to hate me,to know me is to reject me, on this journey to be
Yet in my place of becoming, I'm dying in the process of being free.
Travailing and moaning in this labor room of pain with no intimacy of privacy
The world is watching awaiting to see this birth ,frozen, cuddled in time
I'm breathing, pushing, laboring seeing the devours surrounding me.
Sweating profusely, scared yet calm, wrapped in the breath of Holiness
I'm not alone, they are here peering over heaven's balcony
Applauding with a thunderous sound of life, I'm strengthed in being.
Contractions give way to a final thrust and through the searing pain I see
A glimpse of what they tried to kill...the birth of me
O death where is thy sting?
I've come to the end tiime of myself but to the birth of me.
©Christie Ward-Williams
