To partially open the doors of my poem, "To Die and Resurrect", words that are only a thorough touch of silent wounds which I carry on my skin, executions in the black of the night don’t come as a surprise. I only know that I died and revived to let the water rise from the ground and not let my brothers die of thirst.

To die and resurrect...

Under a savage sky,
of looks that stifle,
I seek peace;
a bloody battle is what I find

I perceive,
in this heartless world,
an amalgam of imperfect
with inhumanity

My restricted words disapproved, my memory eclipsed;
stabs strengthen me and I step on to fight, 
over the rage that shakes the nudity of my pain,
the scorn that stains the whiteness of the paper
where I write the account of bitter affronts

I struggle with words parading through my veins,
without sparing grief,
loving and hating to die and resurrect;
serenity and forgiveness comes;
on my knees facing the altar

Slow blows that severed my petals
allow me to express:
"although it’s the same to be rose or thorn
and feel drought in every breath I exhale,
I will not stop fighting"

©Noris Roberts