Black Wings and Dust

 

Someone spoke to me last night,
told me the truth. Just a few words,
but I recognized it.
I knew I should make myself get up,
write it down, but it was late,
and I was exhausted from working
all day in the garden, moving rocks.
Now, I remember only the flavor--
not like food, sweet or sharp.
More like a fine powder, like dust.
And I wasn't elated or frightened,
but simply rapt, aware.
That's how it is sometimes--
God comes to your window,
all bright light and black wings,
and you're just too tired to open it.

 

Reviews

[Wildecat]

A very nice write, a pleasure to read your poetry.

[Jesse Lynn]

I absolutely love this. There isn't one unnecessary word in this, it's short, it's directly to the point, and speaks about an issue that I'm sure everyone has dealt with at some point.

My favorite part:
"knew I should make myself get up,
write it down, but it was late,
and I was exhausted from working"

Great write.