For OctPoWriMo Day 31 the Prompt is the word endless. I’m combining with MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt based on the Sylvia Plath letter quote: “I talk to God, but the sky is empty.” so glad to be done OctPoWriMo two-months later. It took awhile, but I’m happy it’s done in time for Christmas. Lol.
Credit: Paulo Brandao via Unsplash
Words in the tumbled breeze,
Chatter of birds in early light;
Blinding my ears to fright.
Intense azure glows, I cover my eyes;
It burns, it burns,
What a fright, what a fright.
Restless, my ears ringing as if I’ve spent all night,
With giant speakers, there jarring blare.
And oh, my eyes how they sting,
Such terrible light blinds me in fear.
How can such gleaming light be wonderful?
For me, it’s a curse.
No afternoon delight, but hellish nightmare.
The hammer’s swift; I the rock pit —
It’s pulsing, the rhythmic pain seething.
Lips moaning pleas,
Make it stop, but its unceasing.
Not after strong coffee as my stomach lurches,
Nor over toast I spit-out disgusted.
My skin, elephant tusks envy such paler.
No wine or liquor could cause,
A tinge so blue as the veins in my wrist.
A putrid cycle of faithlessness.
Once I believed, now I am lost;
Lamb to the slaughter, must I too sputter?
Have my heart carved,
Gurgling water, blood in the tide.
But the tawny bird near my ear,
He flew inside my broken pane.
He cocks his stubborn head,
Eyes rapid; he mutters, words pained.
His left wing slops,
Tossed from the nest, now he rests near me.
I’ve not the heart to twist his neck,
Though his wing be his death.
But oh, he chirps, eyes rapid,
He sings despite his tepid clawed-steps.
Tiny talons gripping my pillow.
He sings, peers outside,
Aware he can’t fly;
We both can’t.
So, we stare in confusion,
Peering at each other, eye to eye.
We know will soon be cut down.
Yet, while I groan, bird tweets,
The funniest chirps, as if conversing.
He’s livid until I arise, bring him a saucer;
Sups his water, munches sunflower seeds.
He try’s to flutter, my heart leaps —
He flails to the floor.
His eyes see cerulean horizons,
Not wretched revolt.
I’m mad at God,
He made the bird disabled.
But as I curse — bird’s tawny head shakes, beak twerps.
It occurs to me,
He sees more than ‘something’ out there.
If he can chatter at me unperturbed by my size,
Then, fling himself towards the sky —
Only to fall,
Perhaps than, faith can also fly again?
If God can mend my wounded heart,
With nails, grit embedded deep,
Can my feathered mate,
Have his wing set straight?
Then we can both soar,
And peer to the azure, the Heavens.
Recognize that this ‘something,’
Isn’t intangible, isn’t hiding,
It’s in plain sight,
Crystalline truth sudden,
In opulent morning breeze.
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