If It Had Not Come

Awake by night and asleep by day; the way of the owl is ostracized. With its dawn glimmered eyes to that of the dark side of the moon, and its fur of haven; the owl never deceives. An amalgamation of mystery and taunting envelope the owl as the zephyr on the brim of the night's stay. As it flaps its wings on the dead of night, it sees drought on the farmland it once called home. The ominous clouds gathered upon it, and wished the owl a mournful trip toward memory lane.

 

It passes through the forest with branches slim as the lining of one's finger. The embroidered patches of greens were replaced with smooth land, dappled with the grimace of the past. As the owl lands on the surface, it suddenly got caught in thorns etched hidden above the surface. It struggles to escape and break free from the thorn's crevices and corner. It ended up hurting its wing as it falls badly, feeling the viscous wine from its ripped wing.

 

The midnight wakes the owl from its unconsciousness. From the thicket of pressure and manipulation, it hates the sun for it always shone. It blames its broken wing and broken heart on the sun, for if it had not shone and rose every single day, the owl does not have to be alone and helplessly independent. The farmers do not have to sell their property for money if the sun had not shone. The night would have not been fearsome and hated if the sun had not shone.

 

But amidst all this, the owl could not do anything but loathe in the dark. For how could it do something about the sun when it knows nothing about the light?

 

 

Reviews

[The Daisy]

I love the use of analogy. It's inspired!