Friday, 4 December 2009
05:43:15 AM (GMT)
Me and Evan were impulse typing
But we came up with an idea
I type one part, he types the next
And for ten parts like that until we have a poem
And the subject was a bird
Bold print is evan, regular is mine
And Evan went first
Here we go
flapping like black foam in my sky
a crow, the symbol of worse things to come.
He is headed towards my light, my soul, my being.
And there is no stopping him
and it opens its beak and i try to edge away very slowly so it does not hear..
for I know it is blind, I see its eyes bleed. Or is it albino?
Is the black of its wings a cover up?
A shield in the darkness to hide its oncoming to the innocent sleepers of the average
The day people.
The people of the blue bird, of happiness.
Is the black to cover its oncoming?
or are the eyes just mad?
Red in its mad desire to destroy the being of a human?
I dare not breath, I flows silently over me.
I breathe, as it whispers into my ear.
"The fear you have of me. Keep it. I will feed. I will return"
It left with my eyes
For the eyes are the window to the soul.
And in my soul was the fear it lived for.
The fear that fed it.
And it the distance, the blue bird chirps.
And the morning people awake