Strength in One and Strength in Many.

I am born in an angry gray vapor of a mother
With billions of brothers and sisters.
We are separate entities, but yet
We merge, we ripple and writhe like
A column of smoke released into the sky,
We break apart with different identities
Stories rewritten but still in the same language,
And millions more hover on the breath of a wind
Up into my mother's mist.

Her heavy womb bulges, and
We break free, cascading at incredible speeds
Towards the ground.
I am an infant on a whirlwind of a journey.
The air is frigid, and I plunge through arctic drafts
Surrounded by my siblings falling to the same fate.

Far, far below is suddenly up, up close.
Some of us crash into rooftops,
Some flatten on upturned faces,
Some are instantly absorbed into the concrete.
My delight in the rush of freefalling is obstructed by
The terror of where I will land.

I am a tiny being, victim to the most delicate of
Zephyrs,
And the gust of a falcon's wing combing through the air
Sends me tumbling off course.

I land on a tree orchid, its petal shuddering
Beneath my slight weight,
And I roll down its length,
Slipping over and over like fingertips on silk,
Its pale seashell color absorbed into my clear body
And bursted into fragments.

The petal gently lets me go.
Subjected to gravity again.
The stream beneath is charging along,
Slowing down for nothing, especially not
Anything of my size.

The waves rush up and crash down,
Tossing their foamy heads as if
Eager to meet me.
I vanish into the masses with
The littlest of ripples.

I don't know if this is death,
Or if I have been born into
Something new, if I have gone
From a tiny being all alone
To a tiny being operating a slice of
A gigantic one.

I can't say if I'm still who I am,
If I can remember where I came from
Miles up in the sky, but I realize I am still alive
Because I feel the thrill of dashing forward
Within the stream's veins,
I hear the whisper of my heartbeat
Among the rough-throated symphony of
Millions.

Reviews

[dan]

Falling Leaf, This is simply breathtaking. A newborn infant falling from the sky, "with billions of brothers and sisters" suggests the birth of a new generation, all equal yet different. Your tremendous use of vivid imagery leads the reader through the piece toward a conclusion, "Among the rough-throated symphony of millions." Again, millions. A new generation? Perhaps....but whatever you had in mind is extremely well written and captivating. I usually don't rate poems 100, because only a rare few rate that....this is one of those rare few. 100! take care...dan

[Falling Leaf.]

Dan, I truly appreciate it. :)