It perches on
the twisted branch
of the old and
gnarled tree.
His eyes are stony
and his claws clamp
the branch so gravely.
He could be a
black marbled statue
the way he hunches,
so rigid and miserable.

Then, suddenly
in one swift movement
he is off and flying.
His wings, as dark as a winter night
fill the air.
He becomes the sky,
a feathered sky,
a gloomy, dreary, weeping sky

He cries out a
mournful melody
the song of pain and sorrow
‘Caw, ca-caw, caw’.
He is the future
for ever-y thing.
Once whole,
now may be
shattered pieces of
hope or happiness
positioned in the heart
like pieces placed into a mosaic.

And, always will he be
waiting, waiting, waiting
waiting for the day when
the breath is knocked
cold out of you.
He waits in that lugubrious
and static stance.
He waits,

The Blackbird does

He waits for you
to come;
today or tomorrow or
next week or next year.
Eventually we all come.

We cannot flee or escape
this terrible fate
because death is
the end of all life.

The Blackbird caws

his woeful cries.
and,

The Blackbird waits

for when
all our last breaths fade
for when all our souls elevate.
Don’t worry though,
even in this desperate world,
when there may come a time
when all is in despair or faithlessness
a better time will always approach

The Blackbird will

Fly with your soul,
float in the sky
glide effortlessly
to a destination
To happiness, possibly
or an afterlife perhaps.

Although he sits there frozen and anguished, eyes shining beadily,
claws clenched so harshly the
branch even seems strangled

The Blackbird is to be

trusted. After all, he is
the future of your life.