Sparrow: Two

Realizing what he had just done, that Hawk howled:

“O’holy Dove,

above,

crucified and forgotten,

whom gave himself to resolve our sins,

will you forgive my actions when your light shines upon them?”

and fell to the ground in a ball of spirit and flesh,

convulsing with emotion and the melancholy of

6,000 years worth of poets – all weeping and howling

their thoughts, hoping someone might listen

to their sad souls strung on the clothesline,

blowing with the wind.

The Owl,

misunderstood and brooding

time away in his double chair, ashtray on knee,

overflowing and misunderstood – having listened

to their conversations, hour after virtuous hour,

inhaled lightly on his cigarette,

and blew the smoke out of his nose.

He paused,

looking up toward the Hawk and with an air of fatherly advice,

understanding the Hawks troubles and deeply rooted struggles,

announced that he himself,

deep and brooding and

o’so full of excitement and pain,

had once contemplated death and the depth

of the human soul, and at the darkest hour of the night

had seen himself sit across from his seat at the dinner table,

deep with melancholy and brooding in thought.

So surreal and impressive was this event,

he found himself burst into tears and upon

recognition of the fact that he was weeping,

he stopped.

And the Sparrow said

“Why seize your tears when all your life you’ve struggled to feel?”

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17 Comments

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17 responses to “Sparrow: Two

  1. divinerush ღ

    You have such a way with words, absolutely love both parts! Great job!

  2. Lovely ending. Talk about holding up a mirror.

  3. I love this..great post, very clever

  4. Well written. I like the message and the way it was delivered!

  5. Oh my, this was good. Owly.

  6. A2LSM

    Profound last line!! I look forward to you continuing “with this idea”! Keep writing so I can keep reading :-)

  7. magnificent! I hate modern poetry. love this.

  8. (this is ‘kjanderson’, i changed my name)
    I think my saying about modern poetry was a little glib. So much of it, I get the impression, has insignificant content, and is ever pretentious in trying not to be. There are definitely disproving poets though.
    Yours, is witty; addresses deep matters with balance. You communicate worthwhile meaning with the impression of spontaneity. That’s personally what I value most in poetry: the impression that the little references you get are unique to you (the reader) and the poet, because they seem so transient. Maybe it’s only an impression though, and I’m sure it’s a common thing to like ;)

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