Dead Birds

I don't know what this would be considered... but whatever it is, it came out of me. haha :)

If you could gather any thought,

Any sweet dream of mine

Into your arms

Like sun drenched marigolds

You would have this:

 

You would have the delicate archway

The burgundy stone pillars, stretching

The frozen angels covered in

Their black marble wings

You would have the thick golden grass

Bending toward the quiet pond

The sun moving in with warm light

Turning the soft mist white with its touch.

 

The old church is a mere memory

Forgotten in the trees, and in words

No one comes here but me

No one knows its surreal beauty.

 

I wander the courtyard

Brushing the angels with my fingers

They are part of me

I can see their dark faces wake

Become alive

Their stiff curls loosen and spread

Reflecting the sovereign sun

Sometimes they dance with me

But their feathers fall off.

 

I erase every element

Of the world that lies outside

It is debris at every corner of the gate

The narrow brow of my mother

The sweat of my father’s hands

And all of the lies that stick on their tongues.

 

Loathing is all that I can gather

Toward the searing pain that is being human.

 

In Autumn I see silver hair

The boy is resting against the stone

With tired eyes

And beautiful hands pulling a bow

Over satisfied fine-tuned strings.

I watch him calmly

Wanting to weep

Wanting to bathe in the soft melody

And touch the white-blond hair

That looks like pure silver to me.

 

The trees around our sanctuary seem to darken

But I know I am just seeing things.

 

On the third day I watch him

And his dark eyes find mine

Revealing from me a timid laugh

And from him a handsome smile

And I find myself

Thrust into his presence

Sitting near him on the hard stone

How strange it is that someone is here.

 

My whole being is bent

On the way he plays, the way the strings sing

It shatters me

Entrances me

Sometimes I don’t know if I’m dreaming.

 

I did not know that someone

Could have hands as soft as petals

For I would hold them against my face forever

And I would make his arms my mantle

His warm lips my fire

His dark eyes my escape

To run farther and farther away from the world.

 

The stairs of the church are cold

When I walk, when I sit with bare feet.

I am straddled on winter’s edge

My fantasy still invincible

But I am cold.

 

I run back to the village every fifth night

Greeted by urgent cries

Pleading cries

Warning me to come back, to be

Safe.

But I do not want safety.

I do not want to toil with a hurting heart

Or lay in a field with dead birds

Or touch the imperfections my sallow humanity.

And then all I see are their lips moving.

 

I have no agent of goodness

For the stone angels only watch me.

 

In winter I find that my love is hungry

I bring bread

But he crushes it in his hands

He tells me food is for the weak

And the snow begins to fall on his lovely hair

As it melts it drips off his face like tears.

His head falls onto my white linen dress

Eyes scrunching in agony

And I want to shake him

Because I don’t understand

I don’t understand.

 

I can see, yes

The trees are darkening.

 

His dying figure lay on the snow

Soft mist trailing from his breath

The forlorn violin is broken beside him.

I approach, but he begins to writhe

And his hands grow into fleshy claws

His eyes burn into me a red glare

As he sheds his silver mane.

 

I cradle the creature in my arms

And cry out in sorrow

I will not lose my love amid the snow

I will not lose this divine dream.

 

I stroke his tortured face

Agony runs through my hand as he bites

And warm blood pours onto the snow

The red language of death in my vision

The fear I wish I didn’t know.

I cannot die here

In a false world

With a demon in my arms

So I whisper “goodbye”

And clamp my hands onto his cold neck.

 

I watch his body crumple into dust

Seep through my fingers

And return to the ground,

The memory throbbing in my head

Of the hollow neck

That held no heartbeat.

 

My cheek presses

Into the cold crimson and white beneath me

A scream echoes as the pain rushes through me

And I cry wearily

Entangled by the dark trees

As I wait for life to fade.

 

When I awake, my church is a morgue

My angels are fractured gravestones

And the snow gently sheets all of us.

 

And I try to fall back to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

please critique! :)