When Once I Came Upon a Nest

Mon, 01/13/2014 - 17:03 -- ryanox

Once I came upon a nest

In a thicket of the forest.

‘Twas combed beneath my feet,

This basket of twigs and pines,

And all that sought fortitude

Would come hither to retire.

I know that thou art my brothers

And with thou we shall succeed life

And prance into eternity,

Where God interminable awaits us all

With His sturdy hand

And His sweet song of elder fortune,

A rekindling of spirits feathered and phallic alike.

Upon the dawn of dusk we frolic,

A flock knits throughout the willows,

A cacophony of swallows,

An island of misfit toys,

Impregnable, dissident,

Former nests tumbled from taller trees,

Our home and heart now one in the same.

The woods, a collection of smells,

Morning dew and subtle spruce,

How it lingers on our bills.

And the nest,

Oh, the richest scent of all,

Befitting, where we’d reside,

Hark; the rising tide!

Sniffing, us, a sole assemblage.

When once the nest was weak,

It garnered strength.

Growing, a raucous collection of

Claustrophobia and condemnation.

The wild’s harrowing howl

Becomes a dignified bark.

Yet all in turn were affected,

Beaten, bruised

Between the twigs

And the sticks and pines.

And phosphorescent beasts of midnight

Boasted a less than magnificent hue.

And though the wild

Still beckons us so,

The honey scent of twilight

Bears a blinking bitter odor,

An unbearable bouquet of decay,

Though the timber had further tricks in store…

Once upon a spider web of a cloudy night

Did the moon seem to vanish

In a haze of cottony madness.

Hope became stagnant, dwindling.

Searching fruitlessly, indefinitely…

We were lost.

The learned will say that light is ubiquitous,

Permeable, the nest absent of splinter…

Upon that night

We were blindfolded,

The world masked in a veil of mystery

And yet still we sought shelter…

Sending for a cellar door,

A due response to our grievance

In an unmistakable aura

Of a shroud of due diligence;

The light, it peaked through the cracks

And striped our porcelain skin,

Whitewashed yet fair.

Clouds, always stirring,

Did tuck the moon away, bleary

In a cavernous splendor, perpetually purring.

Yet time rises over the slain,

And hope trickles down

To maneuver our moon

To light our labyrinth

To our nest once again.


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