The unborn

Bound to the nurturer's vein,
I am alive but born.
I am sleeping an imminent awakening,
'am one with her and still forlorn.

I breathe but waiting for the first gasp;
Eat but pine for ambrosia on my lips;
I want to unfurl my arms and wail;
Feel the world on my finger tips.

Floating aimlessly suspended in time,
hanged to awake when the times beckon,
Invigorate the living but dead sinew.
The World summons me to be born.

Yet again the hanged man is born
Breaking forth the reins that held him,
Aggressive and pure the new man is,
he's been awakened from his insipid dream.

Somewhere else the joy is pain,
A man is hanged to an eternal dream
He has reins to hold his throat
Time and space suspended within

The world is an irony,
Life and death sons, born of the same womb.
Time plays a beguiling game,
one awakes in the manger, either one sleeps in his tomb.<
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