I'm put to mind of December eighth long ago
because it was a day I had to fight the fight
for my very life.
It was a day I lost my cushioned home
for caring arms to nestle in.
It was a day I first heard a recognizable voice,
un-muffled now, yet echoing joyfully
through my ears, and my scaly eyes
beheld an alluring spectrum of colors
canvased against a dark silhouette.
I no longer had to rely, and be nourished,
on second-hand morsels.
I became free from unavoidable posing
in front of a camera in my nakedness,
while I turned to let them know I was a man-child.
A nameless soul I was while resting and awaiting
my journey from my cocoon.
Water and blood would announce my
arrival when dark met light,
and it fled the scene,
and cries begat cries
as an awaiting spirit found it's host
in my wrinkled body, yet undone,
but joining them together as one-
and I became a living soul.
Now I had a name.
Oh that day on December eighth.