Birdsong

penetrates through the roof –

slates no shield against such power

in music beautiful, a natural magic –

bursts to a brain still in slumber

and there converts to dreams

more active thoughts played out

unawares in a mind troubled.

 

A hand in a hand

fading into mist, fingertips

reaching for one last tender touch;

lovers’ eyes

stealing one last glance

before sandstorms tear them away

into quickened heartbeat

of pained wakeful world.

 

This violence causes blood

to rush to cheeks, a sigh –

desperate, stricken – to escape

lips that had awaited completion

by her other.

 

Eyes moist with tears

open to a room yet bleak,

cold light of dawn a truth

when this morning filled only with

sad feathered song.

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