Human Molting

Each day has a similar beginning,

Our body has shed dead skin cells
like birds molting feathers,
discarding the old,
embracing the new.

Our hearts beat,
a rhythm of change,
each pulse a quiet drum
accompanying transformation
of growth.

We leave behind,
the worn-out layers,
the scars and exhausted round of healing,
like feathers drifting,
on a gentle breeze.

In the mirror,
we see the echoes,
of who we were,
and who we are becoming,
and nod at the dance of renewal.

With each step,
we molt,
we evolve,
we rise,
like wings taking flight,
discovering an endless sky.