the jaguar's tear
slides off his single whisker
clouds do sigh
dragged into the river's teeth
they both stretch
the moment of sorrow lost
life leaps on
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
Hmmm, where do I start? With deep sighs, I am sighing right now.
I just finished burying 2 lizards, and my heart is heavy...
Let me back up a bit...bear with me if I might turn out to be confusing here,
but I just need to write this, release something, in some way
Although I must admit, this is not exactly what I had in mind to write for this day,
hopefully I can write something more decent later...
I have been wanting to write something for my brother since yesterday,
since February 26 is his 10th year death anniversary.
The words remained stuck in my heart, 'til I fell asleep.
Visited him again today, heard mass for him,
ate a Chinese dinner with my parents and sister, went home.
I now needed dessert. Got a piece of Ferrero Rocher, but just one wouldn't do.
So I got a piece of Almond Roca this time and ate it while walking.
All this time, I have managed to keep my tears away
but maybe somehow, someway, if tears want to fall, they will find a way?
I walk to that area again as I ate that piece of chocolate-
when what do you know, what do you know??
I stepped on a lizard. Again
Yes. Almost exactly the Same area, tail falls off, and the lizard skitters away.
But. I did not slip this time. But, yes, I still screamed, scaring everybody again.
I. Could. Not. Simply. Believe. IT.
One month and 25 days after, I step on a lizard. Again.
Today, of all days. As if I needed more reason to be sadder.
This time around, I had the sense to try to find that lizard.
I had to know if it lived, if it was okay.
I pushed away the nearby cabinet.
And there it was.
Rather, and there they were.
The lizard that I stepped on now
and the petrified remains of the lizard that I stepped on on new year's day...
the other one didn't live after all :(
I know it was that lizard, same area, no tail, who else could it be?
Survival mechanism, no match for my killer foot.
By this time, I am crying, sobbing.
Seriously, the tears just start falling, and my heart so heavy.
And I know it's from the combination of so many things.
The day itself, what I had just done, just things running through me.
What broke my heart, was to see that lizard.
I was wearing rubber shoes this time, last time I was wearing slippers.
And its guts had spilled from its sides.
I couldn't help but keep on saying, "Oh, oh, oh lizard, I am so sorry"
I touched it feebly, and it was literally gaping its mouth.
I don't think I can ever forget that?
Such a small creature, gasping, with its insides out,
its skin on its legs and body scraped.
And it was all my fault.
My sister was there with me, trying to help in her own way.
But yes, there's nothing you can really do...I didn't want to stress it even more,
and let death finish what I did.
There's so much I can glean from this, and I want to ramble on, so badly
but I will try to stop myself from rambling too much.
I put the two lizards, along with a note, the dates when I stepped on them
(ok, killed them), and placed them carefully in a chocolate truffle box.
I buried them and still feel so sorry.
In some ways, this is can be so funny, and just freaky & crazy (what's new, this is me?)
What were the odds??? Same place, same thing happening.
And I can't help but roll my eyes at myself as well, just finding it so hard to fathom
how I stepped on not just one but Two lizards in just two months.
I bet that the lizards are all afraid of me now,
saying how I am a lizard killer. A serial lizard killer.
MO: stepping on them while screaming, maybe my screams also killed them off?
I actually took photos of both lizards, I am not sure why though.
Oh dear God, help me, I am acting like one, even documenting them.
I tell you, as I watched that lizard die, I couldn't help but just also
think of St. Jude (for the impossible) and St. Francis of Assisi (for animals).
I know he was dying, but somehow, yes, prayers still comfort me.
I just feel so guilty, with this happening.
I still can't help but cry for those lizards, death by me, for no reason at all,
no purpose served.
I know it's all a part of life...
but it still doesn't change the fact how death can change us
and of how I am responsible for two lizard deaths.
I know they were just small animals, but Still. They were living creatures.
Death can change us in small ways, some in big ways, negatively or positively.
It all boils down to death transforming us one way or another...
I won't expound on it anymore, this is too long,
but one of the ways I can think of comparing it to, is that of a chemical change,
maybe of the spirit, the soul? Not merely a physical change.
And we can never be the same.
...for Ralph McTell
He was my closest friend and confidante
for over eighteen years.
I called him simply Brown Dog.
From a puppy to the present
he was always by my side.
Chasing rabbits through the pasture
or the sticks that I would throw,
he was the essence of vitality and joy.
As he aged, he would lie down at my feet,
an Old Brown Dog, his horizon now my yard,
limping, riddled with arthritis, he was clearly in great pain.
Today would be the day.
With a heavy heart, my shotgun cradled
in my arm, I tugged gently on his leash
and we headed to the pasture where
in better days he frolicked, free as a bird.
The sky was overcast as I settled him to ground.
"Goodbye, my friend," I whispered, as I went
to pull the trigger. But then suddenly a flash
of fur! a rabbit dashed from hiding and darted
into view. My companion broke free! bounding
t'ward his prey, his pain all but forgotten.
As he closed in, he took one final leap...
and fell in a heap to the earth, still and silent.
He had died the way he wanted,
on his own terms, free again, at last.
I buried him there, and wept.
I returned to his grave
with a granite headstone
which bore the inscription:
"To my Brown Dog, best friend and confidante,
thanks for the memories.
Rest In Peace.
Ones who wage,
Ones who rage,
Ones who take,
Ones who pay,
Ones who craze,
Ones who rave,
Ones who crave…
Ones who fear,
Ones who breathe,
Ones who give,
Ones who need,
Ones who will,
Ones who weave…
Ones who plead,
Ones who beg,
Ones who beseech,
Ones who entreat,
Ones who appeal,
Ones who volunteer,
Ones who disappear…
The ones who follow,
The ones that don’t know about tomorrow,
The ones who don’t deserve the morrow…
The ones who sleep,
The ones who cry,
The ones who live,
The ones who die…
The ones who proclaim,
Those who say they create,
The ones who ache,
The ones who don’t wait,
The ones who hesitate,
The ones who don’t concentrate,
The ones who fornicate,
The ones who procrastinate…
Those who fall in temptation,
Those who get in frustration,
Those who sometimes feel desperation,
Those who keep going without caution,
Those in motion,
Those in tension,
Those losing notion,
Those being poisoned,
Those getting in distortion,
Those following the broken diction,
Those dying like the billions,
Those without unction,
Those washed in the oceans…
I might seem cold,
But it is you who is bold.
I might not express,
But it is you who doesn’t let me progress.
I might not seem like I seek,
But it is you who doesn’t know me…
I might seem like I need,
But it is you who might always be begging on your knees.
I might seem dull,
But it is the one that is fool.
I might not be alight,
But it is you who isn’t truly alive…
I will remain neutral,
I will remain silver,
I will remain gray,
I feel darkness,
I feel light,
I will remain hallowed…,
After all, it is you who deserves no life…
I am a metal hawk,
I am a mountain goat,
I am a silver bird,
I am a gray wolf,
I am a white tiger,
I am a mystic rose…,
I am I…
And I survive,
You are here,
However, it is you who deserves no life…
Being human does not imply that you have humanity…
There was scent of a fire in the call of the wind
from a few blocks away, I could smell it today...
someone burning a pile, in this first day of fall
Leaves and debris, with smoke on the bend
It darkened the sky of the September light
with fragments of char, as dark as the night
It drifted our way, and into the breeze,
and it lifted the ash
that caught in the fray, bits fluttering down
then, onto our lawn, with fringes of gray
A scrap from the classifieds, of newspaper ads
A fragment, not burned, with a portion so sad
just a singe on the edge, on the fringe of my day
A scrap now was pending........and I dreaded the end
I read someone's query, and my worries were tossed
to the smoke-singed sureness, of a pet that had been lost
For those moments we had owned her, she was lost and alone
Hungry and howling, on that cold autumn day
It was a star-crossed encounter, a dachshund we had found
We would feed her, and bed her, had asked all around
and a with a few passing days.....she had found a new home.
Here in our hearts, becoming our own
A name we had chosen, she came when we called
but today ...now I know, she is not ours, at all...
The wind off the river, pushing paper and leaves
fragments of yesterday fluttering our way.........
Spinning on down, every twist, every turn
changing the moment......without being heard
Small bitter pieces are coming our way
changing small fragments, and the heart of today.
Great Grandpa Zerbst, I wish was here
I'd like him still around
He had a herd of Hereford cows
His farmin' sense was sound
He passed away when I was young
I'd only seen him twice
But even though his life was rough
I'm sure that he was nice
At first, he had some horse-drawn rigs
To grow his crop of wheat
A tractor then, in place of them
That had a metal seat
He had a herd of ninety cows
A huge Wyomin' spread
But now a herd of oil-rigs
Are drillin' in their stead
A lot of things Great Grandpa knew
From distant Germany
But now these things I wish I knew
Are buried 'neath a tree
In loving memory of Jones,
The best duck I've known.
My pet and friend since I was four.
For a bird, he was dear;
I wish he was here
So that he and I could do more.
He stood and aimlessly watched the parade of patrons and volunteers that wandered daily past his kennel. All so familiar, so ordinary. Just like every other day he mused. Nothing new. Nothing special.
Moving to the small crumpled blanket near the back of his cage, he turned several times and finally curled up, head on his paws, positioned so that he could watch the activity around him. But in reality, he was bored. It had been a long time since he had met each morning with anticipation. Too many days. Too much disappointment. He would leave all that barking and racing to the front of their cage to the younger pups who hadn’t figured out yet that the cute ones went first. It didn’t really make any difference what you did to attract attention if you weren’t young or cute, or both.
Too much time had gone by to participate in the charade. In reality, Walter had seen a lot of people that he would rather not spend a lot of time with. You know the type. Kind of hyper, bouncing from stray to stray, looking for a perfect dog. Kids poking their fingers through the kennel screen or banging on it. Some even making barking sounds. He didn’t need any of that and was glad when they were gone.
Walter was very picky. Set in his ways after so many years. He had had it good for a long time. An only dog in a household of two people that let him be himself. No tricks. No stunts. Just long naps and daily walks. A yard to himself to reflect on what was for dinner. He had been fond of his doggy bed in their bedroom. Each night he would help his owner walk through the house turning off the lights and checking the doors before they climbed the stairs together. And there was always one last good night pat before settling down.
But those days were gone now. First one had become ill and went to the hospital and never came back. The other one changed overnight, spending long days, sitting mostly. The walks became less frequent. Walter did what he could. He could see it in their eyes that they were hurting from their loss. He would make a point of laying his head in their lap, trying to let them know that he missed them too. At times like this, he instinctively knew that although it remained unsaid, they only had each other.
He remembers well the day that his owner snapped a leash on him and said, “well Walter, I’m afraid we have to say goodbye. I have to go to a place where they won’t let me keep you, so I am going to have to let you go.” Walter could see the tears in his eyes. He knew it would do him no good to whine or resist. It was obvious there were no alternatives. And besides, it would just make it harder on his owner. But he was going to miss him. It was not going to be easy to adjust.
But adjust he did. He had been here a long time now and had seen countless pups and dogs trot past his cage with light hearts and new owners, heading off with new found hopes and expectations. But it soon became obvious that there weren’t a lot of people that wanted an old yellow hound. Everyone wanted the young ones. So here he lay, dozing a bit, but still keeping an eye on those walking by, many giving him but a glance before moving on.
He heard them before the saw them. ”Honey” the voice said. ”That looks like Walter, old Mr. Whitney’s dog.” Walters ears perked up a little. ”Do I know them” he thought. ”They seem to know me”. I’d better go take a closer look” and with that, he stood and slowly ambled toward his kennel gate, giving a cautious wag of his tail.
“It is him” the man said. ”Walter, how you doing boy? Do you remember me?”
And upon closer inspection, Walter did remember him. He used to live right across the street. He would see him in his yard and if Walter were to ramble over, he usually had a dog treat in his pocket. With the recognition, Walter gave a little stronger wag and moved toward the fingers extended through the fencing. It was good to see an old friend.
“What do you say hon” the man said. ”How would you feel about bringing Walter home with us?”
Walter looked at the woman and saw her nod in agreement. ”You wait here and I’ll go find a volunteer.”
The man bent down and said “What do you think Walter? Would you like to go home with us?”
Actually, Walter decided, he could think of nothing he would like more. A chance to go back to the old neighborhood with people he already knew. What was there not to like.
Soon the woman returned and the gate opened. A leash was snapped on Walter and together they proceeded past the rows of dogs and puppies, all vying for their attention. Walter couldn't help but stand a little straighter, stepping a little more lightly, showing off. ”This is what going home looks like guys.” he thought. ”Good luck and goodbye”.
As they neared the car the man said “I can’t believe we found you Walter. There is someone I am going to take you to see. I can’t wait to see the expression on his face when you walk in his room>”
Walter, of course, knew exactly who he was talking about. And he couldn't wait to see the expression on his face either.
I saw a man once on TV
He was hunting grizzly bear
Then bear, he got the upper hand
And blood was everywhere
That man was in an awful state
But I lacked in sympathy
You live by sword, you die by sword
That’s just the way it be.
I knew a man, a fisherman
He hunted for big fish
But when his boat did over turn
He never got his wish
Cause big shark came and took his life
And Karma, it was done
It seems that this time hunter lost
And mother nature won.
It seems some folk are low on soul
And only live to kill
I have no sympathy for these
And nor I ever will
When the game gets turned around
They’ve only they to blame
Because they gained their pleasure from
This heartless killing game.
In the Meadow, I hear a POP!
Drip Drop , Drip Drop!
I can't seem to hear the Clip, Clop!
So off I run with a little Hip-Hop!
In the Meadow, I hear a POP!
Drip Drop, Drip Drop!
As I near, my Heartbeat gives a Stop!
My Stomach does the tightest Flip-Flop!
In the Meadow, I hear a POP!
Drip Drop, Drip Drop!
I howl on seeing the Butcher's Shop!
Onto the Meadow grass, I Slip-Slop!
To Witness the Unbearable Chop!
Blood of my Horse, Drip Drop!
Animals caged in a zoo.
What makes eyes lonely?
Dare we see?
Dr. Ram Mehta's Quinzaine Contest
by nette onclaud
It comes back to me in solemnity,
And I wistfully wish it wouldn't.
A willful case of killing it was—
A hunter doing what he shouldn't.
Father had taken me deer hunting,
Thinking to make a man of a boy.
I prayed we wouldn't see a deer.
And we didn't—not one—such joy!
Daylight was dimming to dusk
When he said our hunt had ended.
We started down the rocky trail,
And at a turn—we froze, suspended.
A hunter was positioned to shoot,
Crouched, rifle cradled with skill.
Target? A shiny-eyed rabbit
Happily nibbling a leafy meal.
"Oh, don't," I felt to cry out,
But then a c-r-a-c-k cricked the air.
The place where the rabbit had been
Was as if nothing were ever there.
"He missed," my glad heart sang;
"The rabbit's alive and is all right."
But the hunter's face was fulsome,
Albeit bleared by an odious blight.
As we came by the spot, I retched;
The brush was garnished with gore.
Father's silence tracked the truth;
We wouldn't go hunting any more.
How to conceive of such blood thirst—
Wanton killing as an act of pleasure.
I trust, however, for those so cursed
Deity will answer in certain measure.
What does the rat say?
“Vote for me for Senator,
I am a good rat.”
my sadness dispelled
by the sound of canaries
throughout the air and my heart
vanquishing sad emotions
Oh lonely Inevitable Bear,
Padding claws, death in white
Sorrow in recurring nightmare
Instinct’s test; fight or flight?
Camouflage against the fence,
A challenge; my subconscious fear
Ominous slowly moving silence,
“Let me in, there’s a bear out here!”
These pretty little creatures
On the serpent road to Exmouth
They be some of the features
Along with Emus, Kangaroos
And handsome birds of prey
These little goats be bountiful
They’re all along the way.
They be domestic goats
Who’ve gone back to the wilds
Where they have bred one million fold.
As one moves along the miles
These little goats be seen so much
In their many shades and hues
Don’t know where they got their water
It be tough country too.
The weather here be hot and dry
As the sun bakes everything
And mostly here no rain does fall
To drinking water bring.
And yet these goats look healthy as
Such nimble little beasts
You’d see some dead there in the road
As the crows do have their feast.
That be the price of progress
That poor beasts have to die
That be the curse of human beings
Sometimes it makes me cry
Yet still they be so plentiful
These handsome little guys
Another little part of nature
That make love in me rise.
At the train station in Campiglia
Within sight of Elba Island
Stands the statue of a mongrel
A mix of a something Highland
The statue shows Lampo just sitting
His right paw aloft as if to shake
And facing the train tracks he watches
Just thinking which one he might take
Beloved by every railman
And those who rode Italy’s rail
Lampo the famed riding dog stands
And this is old Lampo’s sad tale
He came from the states in the 50s
To Italy so goes the tales
He lived a life that was quite different
The dog loved to just ride the rails
Now how he got left in Campiglia
The writer of this doesn’t know
The railmen there at the station
Simply let him come and go
Somehow he got to know schedules
Could tell a slow train from express
He managed to go some place each day
But where it might be was a guess
He always made sure not to go far
And to catch an connector each day
That took him right back to Campiglia
And he never once lost his way
Lampo – which means flash of lightening
Made over three thousand trips
Each day with everyone watching
Into a train car he slips
A station master in Rome once
Called Campiglia to see if he
Should put Lampo on the right train back
But Campiglia said let him be
So Lampo sat watching the trains run
Picked one and climbed on aboard
That evening he’s back in Campiglia
His reputation then simply soared
After that there was no stopping
This traveling dog or his fame
And tied to his collar were train stubs
Of all of the train station names
And you know this dog was quite friendly
And always knew which cars were best
To get a bite or to get petted
Or simply to just take a rest
Only once in eight years did he slip up
Asleep he just missed his last stop
But back tracking he finally got home
As train upon train he did hop
This feat said those local railmen
Could only be done by a man
Who had held a printed timetable
Of those trains right there in his hand
Ironically the four-legged hitchhiker
Died under the wheels of a freight
The kind of train he had avoided
As if maybe knowing his fate
It happened right there in Campiglia
The old dog had been feeling ill
He needed a boost from a trainman
He wanted to ride the train still
Nobody saw the dog jump off
As onto the train track he lay
But after the train left the station
Poor Lampo had just passed away
He stands guard now there in Campiglia
Silently watching the trains
The poor dog has not been forgotten
For always his memory remains.
Time runs fast when we are young,
As fast as human eyes can blink.
Turn away and there it goes,
What youth we have will slowly sink.
It runs with legs that won’t tire
So that your aging heart may sleep.
Close your eyes and let it fall,
The fruits you’ve reaped are yours to keep.
Does the river dry when you
Have passed the rapids of this ride?
Open your eyes so you may see
The world you’re bound to on this tide.
Living space expanding
Rooks, badgers and foxes wiped out
Delicate natures boundary.
Brick and grey concrete
Stand in the place of -
Flowers and greenery.
Streams disappear, piped -
To gurgle underground.
Rich buy the land
Like Van Gogh's locked away
Something more to own.
Haunted homeless ignored
Maybe they will fly away -
On roads scrawled at random
With paths erased.
Not as beautiful -
As the child's -
The monkey, that’s me,
The monkey that pretends to be free.
So happy to have his day,
To hear the cheers, the laughs,
And you looking my way.
Laughing at the faces I make,
My clever tricks, the cakes I bake,
Clapping resounds in my ears,
And blows away my silent tears.
It’s the monkey’s day,
No matter how many tricks I play,
A monkey I will stay.
I will always be locked up in my little cage,
I may shake the bars in sorrow or rage,
But I need the peanuts they throw in my face,
I need their laughing to avoid disgrace.
A little monkey, with monkey hopes and monkey dreams,
Monkey desires and monkey schemes,
Monkey wishes his fears away,
Monkey longs for a better day.
Sometimes I take myself so seriously,
As if I’m very important really,
I dress up as if I’m real and proud,
And strut around my head in a cloud.
I pretend that I’m important for you and the world,
I drink up the laughter the applause of the girls,
Just before I realise my dilemma,
My cloths are too small my act is a failure.
Sometimes they pick my cage up and move it around,
Sit it the wall or put it on the ground,
Sometimes they take me out in the sun,
Or swing it around to have some fun.
But most of the time they forget that I’m here,
Here in the dark of a thousand years.
Alone waiting for you to come home,
Searching the horizon for your grave stone.
In fact there’s nothing left at all,
In my monkey brain they nailed to the wall.
Does a monkey have a soul?
Am I for real or really just a hole.
Will I wake up and disappear?
Will I wake up and become thin air?
That will really be the day,
The day the monkey got away.
My last trick, they didn’t see nor even care,
The day the monkey dissolved in thin air.
No more shaking my cage in despair,
No more pretending that I am here,
No more strutting about, making a noise,
No more playing with my plastic toys.
I will disappear and no one will see,
Nor even remember a faint memory of me,
They’ll put the empty cage on the wall,
And my ghost will eat the peanuts they let fall,
As they continue to wonder, laugh and clap,
At the empty cage, dead monkey on your lap.
Full version at :
Spoken also at: http://youtu.be/ig26KyXpbyE
Eyes, gleaming bright
in the dark, in the night.
She hears her mate's howl;
even hears the call of a lonely owl.
Fur, beautiful silver shine;
Her features, all female fine.
Her mate is still calling,
the sound on her ears are falling.
She attempts to make her move;
but hears the fall of a horse's hoof
The hunter! He's back!
Wolf furs...... he has a stack!
Her life now is in extreme danger;
no help from the previous ranger!
She's shy and hides away;
Why did this hunter stay?
Her heart thunders in her chest;
She has to be the most clever, the best!
She slips through snow covered brush;
This is a life or death rush!
He sees her run!
Now begins his fun!
He takes aim.... and pulls the trigger;
down falls her beautiful figure!
Red covers the silver fur;
He has shot, killed her!
Far on a distand ledge;
her mate is waiting, standing on edge!
Concentrating, flicking his ears;
but no sound from her he hears!
The paddock’s filled with bulls
All waiting there to die
They don’t have too much future
For the farmer, he’s the guy
Who has the power of life, and death
He decides what lives and dies
As he fattens each beast carefully
That’s where his money lies.
I see these creatures roaming round
And it makes me feel quite sad
To know that for my appetite
These beasts be treated bad
The taste of steak is mighty good
But what a price we pay
I eat my share of it, that’s true
Perhaps I’ll stop one day!
One paddock filled with bulls
It opens my eyes wide
To realize these wondrous beasts
Throughout the years have died
So I might feast with bulging belly
It really is not fair
Living on this little farm
It fills my heart with care.
Unforgiving cemented ground
Chaotic yearning echos 'round
Breathing seething sour fume
Hollow icebox makeshift tomb
I do not know?
My darkest day.
I want to cry out but
my throat is dry
Terror buckles my legs,
as we are herded out.
we are doomed cargo.
I am in my prime
a lady's hack.
I was not prepared
for this day,
I struggle against
of terrified beasts.
The young still struggle,
Full of fire.
Whilst the weak
I find comfort now in
the closeness of the others.
Belly next to belly,
heart next to heart.
to face my fate.
I look into unfeeling eyes
I dedicate this poem to the poor horses that have to endure terrible suffering on long haul journeys to foreign slaughter houses. They have not committed any crime and are often put down inhumanely. Such beautiful creatures and what an ugly way to die.
a horse came to me
he was singing a song well
and laughing to the hell
must be crazy, must be mad
but deep inside he was very sad
he had no place to live
he had no place to dwell
his sweet heart was gone
and his life was spoiled.
his colour was shiny white
and had darkest eyes
he was free to roam and eat
but could not find
a place under greedy and selfish skies
he came to me
to tell his sorrows
but i could not help
i was sad too
then we both sing a song well well
and we both laughed to the hell
I look deep into the forest
On a cloudy rainy day
I see a crow perched on a dead willow tree
Staring at me, as if waiting
I stare back
Watching its dagger eyes
Pierce into my soul
I start walking towards it
The beak chipped on the left
I continue to walk forward
A feather floats down from its side
And kisses the ground
A shriek bursts from the crow’s mouth
I proceed forward even with warning not to
With each step I take forward
The ground behind me turns to ash
The flowers wither
The sky turns black
But I cannot help but walk forward
I hear buildings being engulfed in flames
But I cannot look away
I can’t go back now
I feel so close
The crow is unmoving
My world is still burning
I’m so close I can feel it in my bones
I feel myself getting weaker
My world falling apart
But I keep going
I must reach the crow
Pulling me towards it
I look away for a moment
And I see all the destruction
I could have prevented
But it does not matter
I must finish what I started
I reach the tree
And there is no crow
Just a dead willow tree
I rest against the rotting trunk
And wait for a crow
That never returns
But I will never leave
No matter how much the world burns
Because one day that crow will return
And I will be here waiting
No matter how much my world burns
Even if I burn with it.
The illusion of hope hangs bitterly above bedside,
Cheek ever gently flattened upon windowsill,
In hopes cool transparency mirrors density,
So that I may take flight into night air on wings of an eagle.
Or enter the kingdom of the gods by way of broken wing.
The sky holds no stars, or clouds, and offers no luminescence.
Soul guided only by nature's intuition,
Cast into the abyss of bright city lights.
But this window mirrors not its density,
Yet another night laid by windowsill,
Yet another night my soul's eagle heart shan't take flight.