The Color Black | listen in
The raucous sounds of birds burned
black with rage,
to a cage
with fear for bars, victims of
their own inauspicious presence
on battlefields past.
was to come.
The smell of rotting
flesh. (Did they know who was to die?)
Ah, but this unbearable silence
thought's ravenous flies
biting at the brain's tender meat.
Such a bird
is no friend.
But who is lacking in light? Is no
rapprochement possible? Do we
not feel for
must fly through
See the clarity of their calm
Soaring quietly now from
their high place of safety, a day-
to our ancient dread of night.
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