mercredi 6 avril 2011

Walking with Crows





Words words
what good are they
when every day
just hurts too much
and there's nothing
left but the
rush of the drug
and crows that
descend outside
my window

Pecking at the
leftover crumbs
on the side of the road
leftover songs
that flood my soul
in spite of
the hopelessness
the black hopelessness
of crows?

Outside my door
they gather
those tremendous
black-winged wonders
witless survivors
of a winter sky
and a driving rain
until there is nothing
left to peck at when
the roads wash away

Yet still we
go walking
the crows weaving
in and out of the
trees above me
making circles
in this lonely
endless hungry
place of pain and
it doesn't matter that
we're going nowhere

What matters is
the moment of
power and glory
in the morning
when a certain drug
combination saves
my pain-filled body
fires the leaden
and brings it back
again to being

And to crows
and yet more crows
and a crow song
in my head
like a death threat
but blessed
because we're
still alive
and we're going
we're going somewhere

(February 22, 2000 - the day after my 43rd birthday)

5 commentaires:

bluerose a dit…

"witless survivors" - it's so amazing what we can survive, and thankfully we do!

Moineau En France a dit…

thanks, bluerose. how are you doing, friend? xoxooxxo

Liz a dit…

My friend ... my old friend, this poem is truly a sign. It is an inspiration. You are in such pain. I am truly sorry. Hugs and love.

Liz a dit…

My friend ... my old friend, this poem is truly a sign. It is an inspiration. You are in such pain. I am truly sorry. Hugs and love.

bluerose a dit…

ah, been struggling a little lately. your poetry is always inspiring. hope you're feeling better. :]