There is a bird outside my window,
That sings every morning
The date of my death,
And the tale of how I will die,
But he sings it in bird language,
Which I don't know.
I think the sound is nice anyway.
What does this mean? I have no idea- probably nothing. I was literally crawling into bed when that basic idea popped up fully formed in my mind. Any thoughts?
Maybe I'll drop in another weird poem or two from time to time, if I decide I like this one.
2 comments:
If my vote matters, I like this one. More are requested.
Wow! It incredible, this reflects the mood you were in the other day, to a T. Like a sense of unattainable freedom we are looking for that's right around the corner, an inch out of our reach, always reflected in our own mortality, through sight, sound, human thought and the fear of the unknown. It's like inner joy doesn't even knock, it simply exists. We are all so uneasy and anxious maybe because life and death exist as one and once we try to separate them it makes us question our humanity. Noticing the simplicty of our lives creates this inner joy and freedom that gets disrupted with darkness as we are reminded of the timelessness of the eternal singing bird. Love it! Quiero mas.
DD
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