I bang the pots.
I stir the bushes.
Fly away. Fly away.
Take to the sky, you little birds.
Take to the heavens, you big birds.
Don’t stay long! I say,
Just long enough to leave your curse upon them,
Or in other words, your blessing,
The blessing of the ruin that you took early,
The one that they’ll find late which they’ll find out
Is the key to their deliverance.
But whatever you do, move on.
Don’t stay long, lest you take sides in the coming battle,
The last and most senseless battle of them all
When the earthbound folk will kill
For the sake of killing.
You don’t yet know
How anger can clip your wings
And wet your feathers.
And drown you
In a cause
That you’ll regret long, long, after they are gone.
And it’s coming soon. It’s coming soon.
But not for those
Who can still fly away and keep on flying,
Not for those who keep on moving out
Of the life that was expected
And into the voice
That points the way
To the Unseen Holy Place.
