When Blackbirds Came

I remember when windchimes nestled in the heart rainbows soothed the tainted cay of innocents a golden candle tempering the fang of dark I prayed, good spirits would always reign. I remember the day when blackbirds came in their fiery beaks was an icy-icy rain smashing every bluebird into bits of clay. Silence and green-eyed things dominated the days three decades of moths, chewed the good dream away. Until I prayed no more. The epiphanies then came in waves: That windchimes only spoke when the wind opened their cage- Nobody paid attention to the candle until dusk awakened to swallow the day- The bluebird isn't really acknowledged until his omega refrain is taken away- Though the hands are now bent the days are often spent, sifting amidst broken pieces of blue clay. Nighttime arrives with chilling cries as the teary-eyed mime tries in vain to knead the blackbirds into flame.