White-Winged Black-Bird

Over the smoky mountain they all await

Under the hazy moon they are all waiting

A firefly is snuffed out in a mason jar

Clutched tight in an innocent child’s hands

Ah, but don’t you know, wild things must

Remain wild, or else they go corrupt

A fairy turning into an imp overnight

Without the canopy of the sky to soothe it

I read that in a book once.

 

All the streetlights turn on at the exact same time

The streetlights all turn on at the exact same time

A black bird swoops across my vision towards the trees

It’s white-striped wings look like lunar moths flickering

Flickering, flickering, under the dying breath of a rose

They crane their heads towards the setting sun for the last time

They do not know the sun will still be there the next morning

After all, how do you know that it will come again once it leaves

There is a phobia called missed opportunities but I can’t remember the name

I’ve missed so many opportunities but I must not have the phobia

Or else I wouldn’t continue to miss them, day after day

I never learn but I do I am learning day by day

It is exhausting to learn all the nuances of the world

The world is a big place so it is lucky I like to learn

In the next life I will be born a billionaire in a mansion that reaches the sky

It will be so high up that I can see the curve of the Earth

It will be so high up that I know the sun will return

And then I will go sit in my garden and write

And what a life that would be.