"Misty rains" by Shirl A. Steward


No Foreign Birth


Forever, it seems
I have said,
"This place is not my own."
A foreigner, I am, in a strange
unfamiliar land.
Even as a small defenseless child,
Feelings of displacement
filled my heart
with dread,feeding
nightmare after nightmare
no fantasy, just real life drama.
Alas, no one came to save me,
to swish me back to happiness...
that is, back to the stars.
So tearfully, I withdrew,
thinking ... it was the only way.
In essence I refused to live,
to belong, to this place
in which I felt
an inmate in a prison cell.

 But, every day, this refusal
became a greater hell...
Not even I could live,
totally above the karmic trap.
I nearly died in heartbreak
of despair,
Death, my friend, came near,
promising peace, but left me, instead,
hanging by a thread
From a broken spider web.
Thrown up against the wall so many times
I screamed finally....NO!!
No...living should be bliss,
not this hell conceived.

I must not waste,
but use this precious gift, this life
for it was given me to be
connected with the core
not just to my own being
but with all humanity,
I learned I must BE to teach,
in this I must shine
and be uniquely me.
For in being so, I help unite
all lonely wandering souls,
some of which still fight to leave.
Accept, thy fate which
brought you to the Earth.
Expressing bliss
will take you sooner home
than longing for a tomb
to take you to a star.

Shirl A. Steward