The Rise of the Sphinx

You can cut off my roots,
and throw me away,
to rot in a decrepit pile,
but you forget that a little bird
took the seeds that I bore
for safe-keeping,
who wait for the summer sun
to begin their new seeking.

You can forget to water me,
so my hard shell cracks up,
and crumbles to a dust,
but you forget that my blood -
the perennial fountain of life,
has leached out into the earth,
to feed and nourish others
who've taken root in the hearth.

You can stifle and strangle me,
or burn my insides,
with nothing left to fuel my spirit,
but you forget that my breath
has left this transient form,
only to merge with the air
that you too breathe,
to kindle another spirit somewhere.

You cannot destroy me
with your humanness;
for I will rise like the Sphinx
out of my cells, out of my spirit,
to strive, to adore,
to emerge, to merge,
moved by love,
to always rise, and move on.