Darkling Thrush


Beautiful words, my darkling thrush
they sound in my ears
with an effervescent hush and sigh
of something of the night,
a dark and bloody sight.
Who can say where this story will fly
but charming Bowyn,
a mirthful star in a humid summer sky........

Wandering a wide path,
young Bowyn chances upon a stream--
but its color! Is it water,
or is it blood?
Does he drink?
Where does it come from?
Perhaps from his own heart--a crimson whisper from the soul,
or from countless others
that offer their lives so that we may live.
Why does the stream seem so familiar?
Is it because the water he wants
flows in copious waves
inside his
own neck?
It is fate, it is life, it is the love
and the laughter of the universe
that sends him and answer:
"you shall know."

--By Benjamin Severnlord