A birthday poem
Gray Walls, impenetrable steel.
Little hands groping in subterranean uncertainty.
Mommy? Daddy? Am I Dead?
A face emerges, strong and male.
Overseeing our lives, our eternities.
Harshness of descipline.
Harshness of love
Larva to pupa, pupa to worker.
Buzz, buzz! One with the steel honeycomb.
10 lies within the 101, significant at last.
Till gray seeps from the walls to hair, to soul.
Then, eternal slumber, the sweet sleep of incineration.