stunnedBird

lightning strike
Photo by Frank Cone on Pexels.com

**work in progress**

 

The morning dew scatters over my wings.

My throat is dry. I cannot sing.

Can’t clear it. Try to speak.

My voice sounds weak.

 

I want to sing at the top of my lungs.

Like no one is watching, like no one is listening.

I try to sing and nothing comes.

Nothing comes and I am numb.

 

The morning dew scatters along my wings.

I am weighted.

I am still.

The wheels stop turning and I feel a chill

in the air,

a chill telling me the madness is creeping around out there.

 

My throat is dry. I cannot sing.

I want to cry but there’s nothing.

Nothing comes and I am numb.

 

My wings won’t fly.

They will not stretch out and bathe in the sun.

Not today.

I am drenched from the storms and that is how I will stay.

 

When it rains it fucking pours and my brain stirs with envy

because I long to rid myself of this pain.

This is why it continues to rain.

Envy.

 

My wings are covered in morning dew.

I can’t quite explain why I am frozen in time.

I don’t want to worry you.

 

My throat is scratchy and nothing cures this dreadful thirst.

I want to scream out.

Primal instincts.

But would it help?

Would it help?Would it help?Would it help?

 

There is stillness in the atmosphere.

I can feel the pressure in my ears.

 

The deafening silence,

the heaviness in my eyelids,

my soul won’t rise

and this is what we are use to. Isn’t it?What we are use to?

 

There is room for change.

 

The madness is everywhere and it’s heavy and it’s damp with desire to swallow me whole.

And maybe I’ll let it. Maybe I’ll dance circles around it’s split tongue.

I cannot undo what’s been done.

But I can feel it and peel it’s skin back.

REVEAL IT.

The skeleton behind the pretty face.

 

We’ll dance in circles with the madness in order to understand.

 

My mind is everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

Collectively spinning out of control.

Spiraling silence. Heaviness in my chest. Restlessness.

 

The morning dew splattered like iridescent paint all over my wings.

 

I imagine what it will feel like once my throat clears.

I know that I will sing.

I will sing…oh how I will sing like no one is listening.

And the stillness will fade into a windy bliss and I will be wrapped within the wind and I’ll hold still for it.

I’ll hold still like it’s the thing that’s gonna save me,

like it’s the hurricane winds that will release these droplets of rain,

let them evaporate along with my pain.

And my wings will dry.

My wings will rise. I will fly again.

 

I will sit with the stillness and let the silence, the steady violence of pressure in the atmosphere consume me.

 

There is no place like home.

The rugged earth and it’s power to render me useless and evolve me into a phoenix.

It knocks me off my thrown.

And I know that’s what I need.

 

Does it make sense? Does anything really make sense?

Time is still and we are birds floating through the madness.

Through the humid air, we are soaring and pouring our hearts out like the rains over the desert, like the heaviness must be felt and released in order to breathe again.

 

The morning dew sits on my wings and it drips onto my soul.

The uncertainty has taken it’s toll.

I’ll let the rain wash it all away.

And even if delayed…

my throat will clear and I will sing again;

my wings will dry and I will soar again.

 

Sit and wait for it.

Like a stunned bird drenched in morning dew, I wait out the storm.


 

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