Poem: The Snowy Owl

snowy-owl

Snowy Owl of my dreams;

Can you help me fly above my fears?

Can you help me traverse those acres

Of snow, with courage as my only

Candle?

 *

O, Ancestors! Rise up to me!

Beat your drums – weave your

Shawls out of stellar glass: for

Tonight we will unfold our wings,

Set foot in the chariot of the

Cosmic Horse, to dine with

The spectres of substance

*

And you are my spectres.

You have raised me up in

More lives than I can count;

Delivered me into an out of

Strife – made me a nervous

Newlywed, and a grieving

Wife

 *

And I know what it is to grieve –

To be pierced by the fervour of

The night; to cast that ebon shawl

Into luminous hallways that know

No night, but The Night of Nothing –

To evanesce into skies so removed

From density, it integrates All

Into The One.

*

II.

But, I will not speak of The One with

Number-stained lips – I will only speak

To you of Snowy Owls – of the fabulist

Messengers who sustain my dreams,

And ease me back into Everything

 *

And that is what I will take from you,

Snowy Owl, Dream Owl, fertilizing the

Thoughts of billions with your phantasmal

Pinions – with the phantasmagoria of every

Flight that showers us all in stars

*

That is what I will take from you, Snowy

Owl – I will take the Absolute Everything I see

You clutching in your claws.

*

For your yellow eyes see everything –

They, too, inject themselves into the

Veins of the night – they, too, tell the

Soul where it must go, to berobe its

Fertile distress with Wisdom.

 *

And This I will Bless.

And This I will Love.

And This I will harbour

In an eternal chest –

That lifts us above

The contagion of

Sorrow.

*

For I am done with sorrow. For,

Though I still weep, and my body,

Verily, often feels like an unreleased

Bag of tears – still, I cry, howl, weep,

And wail – still I will explode with the

Gift of Liberty, with the starburst of

Every tear fall

*

And, as God weeps those self-same tears

Back into your face; as Gods and Goddesses

Cry – every tear a legion – the pain milked

From every unwanted goodbye – as God weeps

Into my face, I will weep back into hers; and ours will

Be a union of such terrific tears, that it could be

Neither seen nor heard.

*

Then I will be The Snowy Owl –

Then I will be the parchment of

Every tear – then I will be the fragrance

Of an imploding happiness that always

Has too much to share

 *

And, as I rip from your beak the heart-felt

Letter that you bear, sealed with the

Stamp of an elastic soul, I will weep into

The miracle of your thunderous words –

Give myself up to the birds – to sell my

Remains to The City of Shadows, and the

Thirst of every Hug.

*

 

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