I have words to speak
and it has been a while
since last I made a poem,
those pretty little pocket of words
rolling down the line, falling
one after the other,
speaking truth, if not fact.
Full of feeling and life and also death,
those little words you so treasure
and fill the heads of others with.
Fierce and fiery
insistent words that must come out
either on paper or in the air,
for the truth will not be contained,
a great torrent of words,
those pretty little words,
and it has been a while
since last I made a poem.
It has been a while,
and far too long in fact.

Great wings flapping
Dark feathers fluttering
In the breeze
Push up, pull down
Rising on currents
Unseen by the eye
Soaring up high
Up, up, up
To perch, to rest

Great wings watching
Dark feathers rustling
In the breeze
Eyes keen and ears sharp
Watching, waiting, listening
Spying all, catching all
All in all
Many black birds
To watch, to listen

Great wings chatting
Dark feathers rumbling
In the breeze
A great jabber
Loud clamour of caws
Many mouths move
Cawing, clawing, croaking
To share the news
To tell the truth

Great wings always

Something hard, yet soft
Arms snaking into
Arms, moving of their own
Accord, against my will
A hand at my throat grips
Tight, light, a bright light
Lightly I ask is it you
And you say back
Yes

You terrify me uniquely,
Filling me with fear
Only rivaled by that of death
And why should you not?

Men are raised up by you
And pulled down just as easily.
The Hound you mocked and marred,
But you bought him glory everlasting.

All around are your messengers
Flying on dark, black wings,
Sharing their stories to and fro
So unnoticed by us all.

Blood you demand
And sweat with it.
Streams and pools of the lives,
And men and women and more are yours.

Madness is your nature too.
Great furies and frenzies.
Rages, yes, but dreads as well
Which turn strength to ice.

You are all that and yet still
So much more than that.
Why should I not fear you,
And why should I not be comforted too?