Transmigration

The old woman, pregnant with her inner child,
Gave crimson birth at the moment of her death.
In the sanctity of that candid honesty,
She spilled the contents of her broken womb
Into a nest of ash and phoenix down
In twisted branches of a Rowan tree.

This wide-eyed child, so wise in infancy,
Rises up transcendent like the myth.
So soon now she will fold her gilded wings
And solemn, walk beside the traveling throng
Toward a consciousness of grace and light
While in her grows the spirit’s purer seed.

There's a quiet authority in this, rather as if the more adult part of yourself were speaking to your less sturdy inner child.

Hi paperpoppet. This is fine poem, artfully written. The only criticisms I might level at it would be to question "crimson birth" (S1 L2) and "in twisted" (S1 L6) I'm not sure that you really need the crimson, it's a little overly descriptive and can be read as, she gave birth to crimson. The last line of S1 as it stands reads like an afterthought or an extraneous sentence as the verse could comfortably end at down. To make the last line flow more easily from L5 I would suggest, "between the twisted branches of a Rowan tree." Although the rhythm is nominally iambic you have lines ranging from ten to 12 syllables so it is not rigidly pentameter. Therefore I see no reason to pare back line six to ten syllables at the expense of expression.

However, these are minor observations about a very effectively atmospheric piece. Thanks for sharing.

Live and be well - H

PrinceMyshkin-I love this intuitive comment, as my inner child is rampant and does need significant reigning in. Thank you.
Hawkman- I very much appreciate your careful and thoughtful comments. I will certainly take all of these suggestions to heart, and thank you.