Chicken

I am looking at life,
Its grizzled and twisted skin exposed to the sun,
lines of pain crisscross,
and deep cuts show its inner self.


Its not hurting anyone,
but it takes its beatings without comment,
and continues on its way,
growing elsewhere,
yet leaving its scars open.


Its not moving,
yet its in many places,
day after day it survives on its own,
becoming stronger as it grows,
until one day it is to old, and it must fall.


To bring forth the new generation,
and nourish and supply them as they go.
Because not even life is everlasting,
it may always be there,
but it is like a flower, opening and closing.

Each day opens a new life,
And each night closes one.