Between Dusk and Dawn
Life is that of a nimble tree,
Colossally robust through all obstacles.
I gaze at the arriving dusk
And the sun blinks to life,
Heating my soul into immense joyfulness,
But within this miracle,
Pain resides in the bellows of the shadows.
The storm will be arriving soon.
And my branches shake at the idea of demons in my wake.
At dusk the birds alight my branches...
When the Red Robin arrives she lands on my darkest side
And plants petite kisses upon my weather-worn arms
And transforms the black into carrot gold.
The snow owl and the sun
Diclaim that I belong to myself…
That I am my own.
The Blue Jay and the Eagle guide me to arise
For what is merciful and virtuous.
And the sun begins to smile just a little wider.
And the birds disembark my hollowed core.
In the distance, a rumble begins.
Lumberjacks return to their saws,
My soul screams at their agonizing rawrs.
And the hymns of the birds
Sink farther out into the abyss.
Taunting me with threats
Of carrying me to the afterlife.
Their chainsaws emit a wild fog.
And I begin to topple over this wire
That connects dusk and dawn..
There is an endless cycle,
Of gazing at the stars
And pleading for nourishment,
But I know my tears are lost
To the void of darkness impeccable.
I will soon be shaped to society’s needs.
For the pain is not worth the fall in this mind.
Maybe at the end,
My birds will believe me when I mutter
And perhaps they will begin to heal the wounds they cannot see.
Until then I will exist in this endless torment,
Composed of icy waves and warm currents,
Stalking pain and joy.
Riddled with scars
That refuse to heal,
But always need healing.
I am the wire,
Between dusk and dawn.
But forget this tangent,
For once again,
Dusk calls to me.