Black Swan

Beautiful tales of a swan, black and white, out on a rippled lake,

Meandering faintly like meaning tantalising the reality of each day,

An oddity in an otherwise serene world of no mistakes,

            Put together exceptionally so that its disturbance is pleasant in a way,

Webbed feet paddle furiously in murky waters for their own sake,

Propelling the swan through life, through strife, towards a reality that won’t fade,

All around are reflections, past selves, cracked by the ripples in space,

Ignored like the echoes of the old voices that said everything would be okay,

And it was, eventually, when the swan learned the art of forgiving blame,

Before all those mystifying times when a rogue imagination forced play,

Alone in a finite head space cramped with plucked feathers of shame,

As if stillborn in that one egg that mattered, the one that made it to age,

To this point, to this moment, to this wonderful display,

An awakening of one so unique, a releasing of all the rage…

 

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3 responses to “Black Swan

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