The Cuckoo called.
His cry plaintive,
His voice etched with pain.
I searched for Him.
I parted The Veil, The Wall
But like the Broken Window, He is not seen.
Our paths merge.
A pattern of Knots and Crosses.
And to His reflection, I call
Fly with me, You of The Sky.
Fly with Me, for a Better Tomorrow.
And together then, We can rejoice,
*In the Insanity of our Lives.
The Cuckoo, for the most part, is a loner. He hides behind different faces, Never building the nest, Always in Flight. For some reason, I can always identify with these wings.