Black Swan

January 11, 2012
By Orestes GOLD, Oakland, California
Orestes GOLD, Oakland, California
12 articles 0 photos 0 comments

White Swan,
drifting on a placid,
never ending swamp,
won’t you drift with me,
until we reach the brook of dawn,
where all the other Swan have gone?

Relieve me,
the shadows of the meadow trees,
the darkness of the woods,
the abject mourn of solitude,
that leads me to a sudden stop,
where all my hopes begin to drop

I stand
upon the muddy, dirty earth,
and watch the Swan from early birth,
from here under the meadow shadow,
wallowing, so numb and shallow,
watch all drift, those kind, those callow

I watch,
the White Swan drift to far-off sea,
and learn the movement of the water,
the movement of the White Swan friends,
the White Swan son and daughter,
their turning curves and many bends

I watch,
their ripples clash in many ways,
their necks held proud and high,
all drifting towards the same end place,
as if it were an urgent race,
where in the end all die

I watch,
the sparkling water of the swamp,
its glisten, spark, and sudden glow,
its beauty calling me to drift and go,
a trail of light with every flow,
I want to go, I want to go

I watch,
the White Swan necks held high and proud,
unwitting of the light below, that shines so loud,
they drift so quickly to the same end place,
and so sad it is, it tortures me,
they’ll never cast below a gaze

I cry,
for reasons no one else will cry,
and my tears, they fall onto the swamp,
and cast the light of brand new colors,
shining bright they can’t ignore,
the beauty always water bore

They watch,
the beauty of their every drift,
the shining of their common gift,
their ripples meet in lovely ways,
of harmony and perfect bliss,
a happy end to all their drifts

I wait,
below the shadow of the meadow trees,
for all my tears to flow on out,
as the darkness of the woods,
blankets my feathers, passing time,
my voice recedes, its ending chime,

I die

Black Swan,
crying lovely in dark woods,
won’t you cry over me, watch over me,
as I drift where all the others drift,
until we reach the brook of dawn,
where all the other Swan have gone?

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