Shattered in ecstasy,
the moon bends down to whisper into my ear,
perhaps it has sensed a sliver of soreness behind–
a decade has passed,
were we if only songbirds perched upon a tree with just seasons
to guide us correctly;
I’d never have to worry about a thing.
The birds possess perfect faith, with a song that reverberates deep
inside their bodies; and I wonder,
how is it that we as a species are more than different?
I am uncaged, slowly becoming part of the silence required
to observe their ways—
my lips defying darkness that threatens to engulf unremittingly.
Is it considered a drought if I am gasping for you?
There is no telling the distance, how high these clouds climb–
in the end, it’s pain that saves us when the world fails to give us
what we have earned; the exposition of truth,
I can hear the birds this morning– their chirping is a sign,
it’s conveying a message.
Love wounds but deprives not of emotion.
Photo credits: Artwork by Ransom and Mitchell, Pinterest
Posted for Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United