Friday, July 16, 2010

Bird at the Birth of the Sun
















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If I could
I'd be an ebony-plumed bird
at the bedside
of the world.

At the birth of
every sun,
I'd warble or grok
until the soul in adolescent form
beneath womb-masquerading covers
awakened.

Alas,
I am not a bird.

At dawn,
the crowing of adamant roosters
traverses my window pane.

And, I cry.

I cry tears
that a bird
cannot cry.

I am human and my song,
a loquacious heart song,
is a lament for the
collective soul of our world.

(c) 2010-2017/Jamie K. Reaser
Published in "Note to Self: Poems for Changing the World from the Inside Out" 
(www.hiraethpress)

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