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The Owl
She comes for me tonight,
a darkness on wings that enters the room,
soundless, sightless, yet she is there,
sure but not swift,
for we have known one another long ago,
meetings of blood, oft in fear or in peace,
finality uncoiled without release,
She waits for me tonight,
no need to hunt hard upon the back
or swoop in unawares to catch me out,
I am ready for the blow,
her eyes cannot be deceived
no matter how deep we dig
for even she wears masks of many,
And tonight she comes to taste anew
the mortal flesh of the human raiment,
dust in the mouth but sweet to the belly,
she takes possession of body and mind,
her prey my life
breath streaking to the heavens,
a star falling upwards, talons on fire
cold rushing wind with no voice,
my mind is so full of emptiness,
the vast universe slipping beyond my grasp,
she clasps me to her downy breast,
perverse mother carrying carrion
to feed the mouths of babes, inhaling the breath of life
with a lust beyond surpassing,
one becomes many,
once more, face upturned to the sun,
laughing to be alive for here in this realm of light
no owl's shadow can cross the sky,
until that moment when
even shadows come to life in the claws of Death.
__________________
"And I am thinking now of how
the writing of our lives, is like
the writing of good poetry,
the kind that can change a life
with the utterance of
a single arrow shaped word
stretching across eternity. "
Last edited by Eadha Deora; 20-09-2008 at 08:59 AM.
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