Friday, May 24, 2013

The Spinning Span of Things Spun

A rainy day,
Mother darting down to feed
Her young chirp playful, eager
Hopeful life out in to the air
Wanting for their share
Guardian beaconing
Beady eyes unfazed disguising tenderness
Tactfully zipping
Tunnel vision
Eye on the prize
Nipping at soggy leaflets mashed up into ground
Of tree of life and sound
The metered squeaks of brood
The nature of this feud revealed,
Her cruelty, caution, motivational inspiration in this moment
Takes form in this smallest meal
To be had,
The object of desire,
Theirs and hers only because its for them she clenches tighter,
Wriggling reluctance
The prey, just that,
Lifelessly holding on
Without hands
Without hope
Soil wet and left behind
The find, its time unwinding fast now as if an underground tunnel overcome by unsuspecting torrent
whooshing in,
As the fodder, we are helpless
As the forager, we are fearless
As the forest, we are everything
Whispers the world, selflessly,
Though at times Her voice inaudible
Oft unheard through no fault of Her own
She speaks
Filling willful ears with wisdom,
Her winds speak of all these roles to be filled
Of all these lives to be lived to be killed
For this whole beautiful world to keep spinning,
Regardless of role no one's ever losing or winning,
She assures us that
We each, in our own way
Are everything,
Always have been,
We each, in our own way
Are nothing,
Always have been,
Just the same,
She gives us all Her love.

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