The birds are the pawn


The Birds Are the Pawns

Even before the Rape of Leda
birds have been bartered pawns
the contrivance between two alienated worlds
Biblical jettisons leveraged
by good and evil
by day and night
by omen and augary
offered for oblation in sacrifice
loved for their melodies
but not permitted into God’s highest paradise
they then became fallen angels under Lucifer’s dominion

At dusk, the devil sends lost, rejected souls
upon an avian engine trying to rid the underworld
of so much twisted angst

Upon releasing  “speckled birds” skyward to run the gates of heaven
sinewy wings flap in vain against the Icarus curse
losing their way once inside shifting clouds of argon
forcing them back again and again
with their burdened loads thrust downward inside the pillory of gravity

Under the piteous night
wings flutter in obedience
they are sequestered upon their return
with the other denizens of Hades
the devil’s leash tight upon them
their lost souls grieve when released from feathered frame
and drain back into the vile swamp of Hell
moaning abreast with the tormented
of Dante’s 7th Circle

If you listen closely
once in a while a whippoorwill will escape the inferno
to sing out an exiled sojourn through the tongue of the pitchy night
and when its’ syrinx grows silent
the renewal takes place
the exchange of lesser light for greater light
the cycle continues its loaded game
birds once again loosed upon open firmament
traveling with a loaded indulgence
yet even with the armament of the God who designed them
they will never reach the plateau they desire

These limbo winged, abyss dwellers pour out their hearts in vain
foretelling the New Age,  The Trojan War, the Messiah’s birth
singing of destiny and  tales so beautiful
humans long to hear the tales again and again
they capture bird -bards,
demanding their warbled voices
from behind  little metal bars with graveled bottoms
a species of the apterously insane emerge
the sweet song of lunacy is still only music to the Human ear

While one can domesticate the cat and dog
leave birds to the apocryphal lives of their destiny
and enjoy them from behind a face of pity
for theirs is a perpetual struggle
feathered harbingers who try and warn us of destiny
harbingers who intercede between a dimensional gap
“… mastered by the brute blood in the air”
and we listen, we see them lift their wing to invisible strings
but for all the treasured singing, and beauty of flight
we have ignored their truths
we only see them as enlightened defy-ers of gravity
as ambient beacons penned by poets
as painted objects for imagery
all through a Metaphysical vane
yet the birds have always known the plan
since the Mesozoic Era rewarded them with wings
birds have traversed two worlds
they measure the days by souls undelivered
and Hell is bursting at its gestational seams
it won’t be long for they testify with lyrical warrant
it won’t be long…


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