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.