Surell

Untitled

I went on a journey

I put on my war paint
And I packed my life
And I followed a path.

I met with the Black Bird
His eyes so void
And earthen

So big and consuming
I was sure they saw the whole world
And were darkened
With its sin.

He looked at me
Or through me
Or maybe not at all
But I made it mine
And I humbly inquired:

“Black Bird, why are you so very Black?”

He seemed not to hear me, but I dare not ask again.

Then he began to hum a tune which I knew immediately.
It was so cracked
So broken
That my throat began to close
My eyes winced and tears broke.
I began to scrape my fingernail
As if to get to the bottom of it.

Then he flew
And turned to see if I would follow
And I would.

He led me to a cavern
With a cross atop it

But he commanded me to paint my skin yellow before continuing.
I felt jaundiced, but I obeyed
And we pressed on.


But I felt “them” around me
What they were, I cannot say;

They were faces in trees
Beetles in the earth
Bats in the roof of the mouth
Clouds which strolled by;

They were near
And they were surrounding.

So we entered
And I felt comfort
In the dark.

It embraced me
In its cool arms
And brought down my feverish thoughts.

So I followed the blind trails
And never felt slightly circular,
Only enjoying the progress.

In my rejoice
I stumbled across two diamonds
Who, despite the dark, shined
Brighter than the sun I loved
And I thought to snatch them
As souvenirs.

But they moved,
And my feet hiccupped,
And those diamonds seem to reach for me
With ancient arms abstract
Moving toward me
Or through me
Or perhaps not at all
But I felt them
And they were cold as the moon
Tugging the tides within.

Were they what watched?
What surrounded?

Before I could answer
I turned for the entrance to exit
But found nothing.

I retraced my footwork
Seeing all those hidden landmarks
Found with new eyes
But found only darkness.

But I did find one unfamiliar sight:

There was a pile of rubble
Where I was sure the mouth opened.

Beyond the rubble
I heard mumbles and rumbles
And I knew my fate sealed.

But I heard a songbird behind me
Its song so pristine
And hopeful
And strong.

When I turned to see it
My eyes immediately ached
Its coat so yellow
As if with the brilliance of our harvest moon.
Its eyes were closed, so I dare not speak and shock this divine creature.

And then, looking upon myself,
I saw my own coat of paint
Shine with that same brilliance

And I felt his song resonate within me
And I thought I could fly away with him.

But his song stopped,
And my ears rang with the emptiness.
I was so entranced in his melody
That I didn’t even notice
He was near gone
To my sight.

All I could make of him now
Were two crystalline eyes finally open
Like diamonds
Which shine like the sun.

I ran to see if I could save my last friend when I was met by something I’d forgotten:

The Black Bird

He had become so blackened,
He seemed only to marginally exist.
Then again, when I looked upon myself,
My own skin had turned from its sun gold to coal of the deepest earth.

His eyes were now gleaming
But what shined seemed not optimistic;
Rather, and instinct of survival:
To fight back the darkness
With whatever light you have left
And pray someone realizes you
Before your illumination dims.

Near weeping,
I decided to find a crack of hope
A shimmer of tomorrow;
So I scooped the Black Bird into my arms
And turned from my former entrance
To a path less travelled.

The Black Bird’s eyes were fast fading,
And I was quickly getting nowhere,
When he began some rhythmic squawk
Which froze me at once,
Being so shrill and urgent—
But then I was freed,
The song guiding me and finding my way
Like a torch.

It finally brought me to a stream, far beneath:
My shimmer.

I took the bird to my bosom
And plunged without hesitation.

In that stream I saw all that there is to behold,
But none of which I may recall with certainty.

There may have been faces which strolled by,
Beetles of the roof of the mouth,
Clouds in the earth
Or bats in trees;

It may have been nothing
But a trick of the eye—
But even then, I saw.


The shimmer
Became a ray
Became the sun
Which crashed into us
And engulfed

Yet the bird squawked
And squawked
And—

I dare not open my eyes—

Then it ceased.

My eyes opened,
And there was the Black Bird
His song coming to its close.

I looked upon my undisturbed skin,
Neither jaundiced nor damp,
Save for sweat.

I looked to the Black Bird’s eyes as he ended his lament
And I caught the slightest glimpse of brilliance escaping them,
Becoming coal again on his final note.

I wished to see him smile,
But I knew it impossible.

Instead, I found two cracked coals at my feet,
Staring up at me.

I humbled myself with a deep bow
And left without a word.

And now upon my return
I have painted my skin with the darkest earth
And carried on as quiet as a cat
In stalk of his mouse.

Words will not escape me
Except through pen
To paper
And possibly to eyes.

I mean to crack this coal completely
And release any diamonds,
No matter how rough,
From their prison.

After all, the repressed are meant to be seen, not heard.

Thanks to my travels,
I have sworn silence
In respect of those whose voices are dead
And buried,
Whose stories must be spoken for—
Or, rather, accounted for.

Despite my voice not being heard,
I am the poet laureate
Of those condemned,
To live a death in their entrapped states.

Actions speak louder than words,
And written word creates the most elusive life forms.

Actions will speak louder than words,
And death will live through me.

__________________