My, how time flies. And then stagnates. And then flies. As an addict, i frequently cycle between obsessions, one being writing. I can't believe it's been three months that i've been silent. Not on purpose, simply distracted by other wonderful distractions--such as reading, homework, painting, exercising, and quitting smoking. (Some have been more enjoyable than others.)
But, alas, i return to you with an open heart and fresh ink. I have missed reading your work and the comraderie of our mutual language, and i hope you have missed mine, as i have missed writing. That being said, i propose my newest creation, entitled:
Shattering the Sky
Sometimes I wonder about the Little Bird
struggling inside his shell
as his tiny beak attempts to crack
the concrete shield encompassing him.
Every now and then
he must collapse
shrinking back in defeat
Little wings aching
from pounding fruitlessly
Little welts growing
on the thin membrane of his flippers
Everytime Little Bird tries to find
a new spot to punch
he is met with resounding echoes
from a callous wall.
How many of these new babies collapse
into hopelessness, certain
that there is nothing beyond the great white void...
and that breaking what traps them
would be akin to
breaking the sky?
Little bird yells:
Is there no life beyond this egg?
How do you know you are inside an egg
when you've never been outside an egg?
Little bird must rely
on some suspicious inner Voice
telling him that someday
the echoes of resistance will
the cracking of the universe...
The pain in your wings is temporary.
If you give up now, you will miss out on everything.
But you gotta earn it.
At brief times, i think
Little Bird hears this Voice clearly.
Most times, though, his walls remain silent
save for the thumping
of his tiny head.
he makes a choice to keep struggling
because at all times,
he is sure
that he is not home