Saturday, 26 March 2016

Dear Owls, the crying sky.

Dear Owls, 

It is dark and the moon is turning away from me. It seems I have upset the universe. 
The sky is crying and I cannot reach it to wipe it's tears. I am so sorry, little baby. I cannot save you from the world. I want to, but I can't. 

The stars are gone and the earth has another way of lighting itself up; fires in every corner, explosions on the next, is this my way of coping with it? A writer, too busy with words. What will my words really heal? What will my poems really patch?

The sun does not wish to speak to me either, the moon has bitched about me again. I cannot fathom the pain, I cannot suppress the anger. What do you expect me to do about it? How do you expect me to apologize? Even if I gather all the ladders of the world, how do you want me to reach you? You're too far up, and I've fallen too deep down. 

You tell me I'm selfish. that I can but I just don't want to. You tell me you're going to tell God all about the ugly things I did. Tell him. He's going to find out from one of us anyway. I'm sorry little baby, there is nothing I can do about it but write. As I write, I bleed. As I bleed, I shed old skin. I become newer versions of the new me. Why don't you look at me? Am I too unfamiliar? Is that supposed to bother me? Why doesn't it?

I want to save the souls in need. I want to jump mountains. I want to howl with the wolves. I want to kill the bad guy. I want to show you why I ran away, you never believed me when I told you. I want to rescue the universe, but what good can I do if I can't even wipe tears of a sky I made cry in the first place? Is this what it means to have your head in the clouds? With all your winds of rage, I guess I gave airhead a whole new meaning... 


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