Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

and the beating of her wings comes softly
a rustle at the edge of awareness
a murmurous underlay, emerging
from the aether, like
the beginning of the rain
whose first drops are never seen
but felt, slowly coalescing
its liquid cadence fills the slats
the space within the clatter
repeating itself faster and faster yet
thunder...now
reverberating, this voice of god
whose complex syllabary
the body understands when the mind cannot

and the beating of her wings draws closer
though isn't it quite like her
to arrive earlier than expected
without a care for family or circumstance
there never seems to be enough
allowances for, preparations made - never
how could there be ever
caught short, the story of his life
diminishing returns of a diminishing future
i look into byron's eyes and see
frustration growing into fear,
the various schemes and strategies
that used to suffice are rendered useless
my advice rings hollow,
time tested ancient formulae
soothing placations for the supplicant
myself

and the beat of her wings descending
leaves no room for mistake or denial
like spanish moss, her silhouette
drapes about my brother's limb,
defining the margins -
the limits of his mortality
he grasps a pillow and wishes
for its soft deliverance,
like a mother's breast upon his open lips
a muffled prayer -
who shall ever hear?

the gift of destiny
is one which can never be returned

lovely, dino!

I think I have read every poem you have posted on studio eight.

This is your best work yet.


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thanks doreen and jack. the poem means a lot to me. after my brother died, we found some of his notebooks - including the one he was using before he died. the poem was inspired by his last entries.

Indeed bravo! I agree w/Stilltrucking this is one of your very very best.
H

"and the beating of her wings..." what a beautiful metaphor, constantine. very touching.

thanks hester and smilegrl. i am very pleased at how this has been received. again, thank you.