There’s a peregrine falcon in the sky
He’s hunting me and I don’t know why
Did I fall down the rabbit hole
And become a little mouse or mole? Maybe a little bird up in the trees Perhaps I’m a little goldcrest up in the pines
Trying not to be his faveroute feast On which to dine
I centred myself In the knowledge of a wise old tree
All gnarled limbs and weeds
A beard of moss
Sometimes wisdom doesn’t speak
Is there anywhere I can be someone else
I’m tired of being wrapped up
in myself
but I’ve seen out there
and seen the earth laid bare
it’s too much for me
all I see is death
looking back at me
mirroring my decisions and indecisions
falling into the abyss
of those eye sockets
You are a deleterious soul
pushing the buttons of all who dare tread
within pushing distance
of your daily insistence
that you must erase their existence
or else suffer the consequence
of your wrath
dare they breathe upon the same air
dare they leave or come back
on the whims of their own time
I’ve been scuffling with a ghost
that fluttered by
after falling from the mouth of the sky
weaving through the dust
like tumbleweed
boom and bust
a story of angst
written only for us
Survival instinct is my enemy
he’s always there when I try to be free
there was a moment when I thought
the end would come
but he kicked out
and I survived another fight
My survival instinct is my enemy
why won’t he listen to these thoughts in my head
I want to be returned to the earth again
I am too small
and the world much too big
put me in a house made from books
instead of bricks
leaving everything to the imagination
with broken spines
as a sign
of worlds well lived
don’t leave me here constrained
in this broken body in bits
and the mind inside
that is folded a million times to fit
I can’t hold myself together alone
untethered in this storm
like a flag surrendering in the wind
comfort me with silk weaved wit and imagery
feed this insatiable hunger
for something to lift me from this black, black hole
don’t let me fall back to dust all alone.
To be a grey rock
as time blends stories
into the room
the downward slide of matter
wear and tear
A ravens beak
to strip it bare
My breath was a triangle
shaping me into a prism
a contortionist
contorting to comfort
within discomfort
the pain a backrest
in which to rest my head
a backdrop of tidal waves
to slowly tread
I hooked my umbrella to the words
and hung on
a heron waiting to unfurl
clinging to this song
waiting for the moment
to be okay with the world
rain and wind
blasting storms
life is a river, never static
to every word
I hung on
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 