Within the stomach of the world
The country stretches its branches, uncurled
Who is the horror of Napoleon Bonaparte?
Who darkens and fools the heart?
Often when man is shaken to the core
Other worlds sneak peeks in his door
And even in the junction of cattle
Metaphysical and mystical truths dazzle
Touched by the sea, a vision came
The pearls of the earth in flames
A jackdaw perches itself on pistons
Radiating heat from all of its mission
His mystic sense stayed tight beneath eyelids
Yet lit the flame in all said and undid
Like a voice in the wilderness
Or even a prophet of old, who might deliver us.
My hands are of wrinkles
Worn out by the passing of time
And yet dearly cherishing on my palms
A small pendant silver & bright
Wear it not around my neck
For my poor eyes see not
But leave it brushing on my hands
For be it a gift from God
Like a Jackdaw
you threw freedom away
And stood on the windowsill
Eyes resting off the lane
The pendant such beautiful gift
A shining star falling from above
And yet lay still in the hands of another
The truth a Jackdaw would not want
The universe plays a winter song
A soprana, tenor, bass & alto,
You lift your wings & slowly left
Scared to be called a thief of a pendant, a desire that was no fate of yours.
This poem is a form of metaphor of a person who desires for the love of another, but it was just not his destiny to. Instead, he leaves for happiness to bestow upon the owner of that love, while the world fades away into a blur. He is a jackdaw, & the pendant a gift.
— The End —