Trepidation

There is a flapping of the wings
Against the quiescence

My heart's organ plays the melody
Of reverent sadness
There is a surge of hysterical joy
Ravaging my being
There is a pulsating sadness
Silvering my lining

In the mist the bird is the vanguard
He flies as with purpose
His out-stretched wings command the wind
His beak punctures the air

He flies in the direction of the sun's highlight

Soon he is no more

My pulse slows to an unbearable cadence

It is my turn

It is now my fearful moment's intention

The bird remains my focus

There is a great lack of surety in my rhythm
I raise my arms conditionally

The wind sweeps my face with tension
I leap into existence
And there is a great joy as I rise with the sun

I am alive