Song bird
Put me to sleep, O little god,
spirit of the ancient, healing tree—
a beautiful rustling brewing within the ancestors' plant,
emerging from captivating redness.
Invisible as a shadow, leaving only gleaming, shining bones behind,
the unseen one remains hidden from my eyes.
Yet, it is a tree of lush, vibrant green,
fragrant and sweet-smelling, bearing soft flowers and a hidden thorn.
Your humming sound—a silencing rustle in the night,
in the deep gloom, in the gathering dark—
becomes a dirge for the dead, a hymn of my final rest.
With windows wide open on every side,
I am dangerous and lost,
without origin or protection,
I am weeping,
unveiling a pain of finding the courage
to sleep facing the solitude rather than
hiding from it
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
