Little Bird
Cry, the little bird's broken voice
falls silent in the dark;
her aged eyes feel the weight
of voices thick with contempt - sneering, jeering,
picking apart the pieces of her unhatched eggs
till the bloodied yolk remains were ground into the lining
of her woven bed of sticks;
A sweet lust for revenge satisfied
the crow - and it croakes to the moon in affection
while the little bird smiles in her tears
glistening of pity and compassion;
of loss...
and she forgives the starving belly of the crow
then she flies into the empty night sky
heading North - to the land of no feeling
where her ache for her kin will be stifled
when she preserves her heart in ice.
- a spontaneous poem (little editing - i know, needs work), however, i left out the part where I feel zombie-like whenever I get rude remarks from people and it just sticks there like a damn thorn in my head. This is just how I deal with it.
Reply
