Sitting alone in a quiet jungle

Wishing I could sweep a wand over my life

To wash me clean

To start all over again

In my mother’s womb.

How good I would be

How clean I would keep my slate

If only, if only.

In a flash, my soul was encompassed in darkness

My spirit snuffed out

Not a flicker of life

I was old

Too old for my years

Worn out and tired

Close to death.

Then a light

Within my reach

With every groping move, it came nearer

Until I was consumed

Crying out for mercy

Pity for my self, my dying soul

Then peace

Safe and soothing

Soft and warm

Curled up and waiting

Almost crushed

Then another light

Coming from the inside

My skin, soft and free

Untouched and innocent

A clean slate

A spirit alive

A dead man breathing

Born again.