365 Poems: February 10th, 2014

Owl

The owl sits.

A dark forest on a winter night is filled with

dangerous happenings.

But what could it do to change the obvious?

It doesn’t care for the danger.

Adaptations and Darwin’s theories

give it the mind of a madman

to live in such darkness.

Some named it after death;

it is a creature,

but maybe a machine.

A winged automaton with a ticking heartbeat.

Mirror eyes and metal claws.

To survive in a world marked by shadow,

one must learn to fly above the clouds.

The owl sits.

It knows more than you ever will

about the sky and the air;

what it’s like to live forever;

what it’s like to live alone.

It flicks its ears,

extends its wings,

pushes against the branch with every rippling muscle.

The owl flies.

A feather falls to the forest floor

in a silence of a world ticking by.

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