Ever-changing Spirit

An "I am" poem for english class, a few years ago.

I am an ever-changing spirit, a child of the indigo night.

I wonder what it would feel like to be a wolf, loping through the forest beneath the cold, shining moon.

I hear the whispers of an ominous wind, far off in the twilight of a vast moor.

I see the brambles and thorns of their accusations, entrapping me, cutting off any chance for escape.

I want to run until I collapse, out in a huge field and stargaze until I drift off into a dark and dreamless sleep.

I am an ever-changing spirit, a child of the indigo night.

 

I pretend that I am not pretending.

I feel sorrow, like a cold drenching rain, as I lie beneath the dark cloak of a moonless night.

I touch the moss carpet of a sunny glade, soft beneath my tender feet.

I taste sunbeams, honey-sweet, like true love’s kiss in the rays of a setting summer sun.

I worry about making mistakes.

I am an ever-changing spirit, a child of the indigo night.

 

I understand that without the suffering and pain, there is no beauty.

I say freedom of religion for all, no persecution.

I dream of a dark, healing sleep, as I pad restlessly through the corridors of the dream world.

I try to forgive and let go.

I hope to leave this place.

I am an ever-changing spirit, a child of the indigo night.