Wings thrash out harsh
songs of confinement.
As notes slip through
desperate fingers, legacy is
left to a fading memory.
A panic of thought,
feathers fall, moods swirl and
black storms hold sway.
Blood-ways and sinus pounds.
As if a moth, dream snared.
Inside a compound
of dark thought.
A pain that washes
in this moon cramped
spring tide.
Crows break their way
through dawn eyes.
Baby wasps sting as
they carry tears,
wetting the air.
Watch angry journeys
turn to sad mornings.
Sick thoughts still hang,
their tendrils saliva stretched.
Sun rise breaks this riot of quiet.
Slough off sleep,
Still the times, slow the crisis.
And slowly this foot
taps out a requiem.
To celebrate a life of light.
©️ Dai Fry 23rd January 2020.