Each life long ago lived creeps up on me.
The past is gone so they say, but there it is.
When I close my eyes, never is it darkness
but bits and pieces, only fragments of what I was then.

A Penguin's conversation, the calls of the tamarins.
A flight never forgotten on wings of my very own.
A long, low roar from the depths of my belly.
A den well hidden and dry to raise the next generation.

But the visions persist, looking down the barrell of a gun,
the tension and the stress of fighting other men,
the politics, the brutality, claiming I fight for freedom.
What have I learned? What lessons from the battle?

And death steals the body away again.
In a state of hate I am forced into the ether
with the angel at my side, into it's eyes
I see my true reflection as it sends me back.

I have not learned but Dear God how can that be?
How is it that I know that I missed the point again?
And in this again, another body, another life, another set of conditions.
What have I really retained? Just memories or is there wisdom?

I do not know right now, my head bows and I say "I do not know".
And the angel comes but without death, sometimes without death
And my true reflection is in there again, in it's eyes.
And I cry for the beauty of my soul.