Robert Brown

Birds of Destiny

y pain can almost pull the birds to earth
Unflap them in their winging across heaven.
What are birds of prey for anyway
but to seize the most dramatic in death's moments,
eating away all evidence of life
all evidence there was any existence at all.
What I imagine to have been,
the bones picked clean or no bones at all,
the sparse spinning of a few planets in my view
cold and unmovable to me,
the others so far out on a whim
I am in a toil to remember who I am
or whether what I am makes any difference,
mindful always of my inconsequence,
vulnerable to amoebae and the mighty ax alike.
I am in nature a natural fool,
too afraid in my light habiliments to go on
too afraid to stop the darkness if I could.
If I were to forsake my bleak vision-
Who would nurse broken dreams
Who would mother the cold?





   

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