Night,
wings light; eyes dead.
Blackbird broken. See
life moments arise,
free.
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
Day: May 4, 2014
POE’S LAMENT
Incessant, the rant,
a near chant arises.
Peckish eyes dart from alcove
to candle flame,
to sky, to die.
Life fades inward and out
stout wings and memories of
dead things free to see, to roam in shadows.
Night, the crypt of dreams holding
moments at bay today and every new
tomorrow. When light returns,
he yearns for broken promises
to resurrect from his dead mind,
reminding of the echoed caw
the blackbird swore. Only this;
only now and nevermore!
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
THE SUNDAY WHIRL – WORDLE #159
FLIGHTLESS BIRD
Eldon Bridgewater was a broken man,
wings clipped and his horn bent; eyes
as blind as the moment he could no longer
see the light in his soulful noise. The boys in the band
would stand in ovation each night, homage
to the blackbird within longing to be free
of this tired and darkened life. As long as he could
arise to the levels of Parker and Coltrane,
he knew he was not dead. Dread the man
who would silence his muse!
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
THE SUNDAY WHIRL – WORDLE #159
ALTERNATE ENDING:
In the dead of night you sing,
wings spread but broken and your flight is dead.
A blackbird lost; tossed
into a life with sunken eyes, it’s no surprise
you’ve never learned to see your way free
of the darkness and into the light.
You are hinged on the moment
when your broken appendages lift you. Arise,
your waiting is over.
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014
THE SUNDAY WHIRL – WORDLE #159
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 