Standing at the sacrificial summit,
I offered up my spirit to the sky
and felt as though I glimpsed a breach,
where hands could reach down from the clouds
to snatch me from this long neglect.

As if those hands could reach to me -
in through some orifice unseen,
to grasp my head and draw me out,
and birth me then to my next womb,
so that I may then breath for once.

I swell to be released from this
expectant universe that's grown so close -
its cramped reality, lost its appeal
and now it starves me of my want
and clings to me possessively.

I see that all I see is dulled
and feel that all I hear is faint
and know that all I know's a sham
and realize all that's real is not.
Awake now, seeing all days are dreams.

This day I dream of breaking forth,
and if I'm not soon born, shall die.
How many decades till gestation's done?
Till I can taste that higher realm
and grow into some larger space?

This womb no longer quells my needs
and cannot feed my hungry mind
that hungers to become a peer
and stand tall in the mother's form -
with pride, the universe's child.

A womb within a womb is here.
A place of waiting on the time.
One life's probation to endure.
A higher state then to procure.
And so, I wait - within this womb.

Stand down, the summit's sacrifice is spurned -
my spirit by the sky ignored.
I feel the breach, once felt, grow closed
and hands, so fancied reach, recede
and leave me to my long neglect.