Ancient Blackbird

It's a dream I had, translated to words.

Ancient blackbird beaten,

lathered in sweat.

The shame is fading but 

It aint gone yet.

The house transparent. I can see 

right through the walls, 

I see the switch swinging

The man in dirty overalls.

I don't think this pain is ever going to pass 

Constant consumption . No escaping my past.

It's here and it's part of my being,

Detachment from thoughts is what I am seeking.

That old fading crow with his eyes tired and hazy,

I stop the switch's stinging.

He lets me hold him. Amazing. 

I wonder if this process is ever going to pass, this 

constant companion is like the die has been cast.

It's here. I care.  It is all 

part of me

but sitting closer with it I'm not too tired to be free.

Through the door is a hunter. It's not the bird he pursues

He turns the gun on me but  

who he's hunting is you.

I assemble the cage with one hand while I 

Hold the shame in the other.

A place for its safety, A place 

to recover.

The blackbird is resting in his cage

he has healed well and 

soon to return from where he came.

That beat up old blackbird will be flying

And as he fades away? So does the shame.