Black Swan II

There’s a sign by the water that says “No Swimming – Here”, a sign that for the most part goes unnoticed, but of course I see it because I am the only one that wades here, through these lovely waters that bring such comfort, if silence and the meaningless conjecture that fills it were anything to go by, then I’d be a whole flapping gaggle of quacking laughter, my soul snapping at an angle a hassle to look after, look…look harder at the other sign that says “Do Not Feed – Them”, them as in me, me as in mine, mine as in my…my dear feelings that bristle when called upon by any other name, for I have not named them like those rubbery things that lurk below the water, in the furthest reaches of this lonely pond, I dive for them when I’m feeling brave or ducking from fear, it is after all the same thing, to live or die, to live and die, that it something that should never be attempted to be proved otherwise…otherwise, they will all feign to look surprised, when the Black Swan surely flies, like a brown leaf on the rise, aiming to go beyond the very skies, to see what may have been mistakenly placed there…maybe a few forgotten promises…maybe a lover with a heart of diamond…maybe, maybe just, a few sprinkled stars that gaze down in wonder, at glistening eyes brimming with these briny waters that I swim in…”No Swimming – Here” the sign says, but I figure it isn’t for the likes of me, a Black Swan, that beautiful thing that really isn’t meant to be…

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Black Swan

I never thought I’d never be, like this, floating on a silently rippling surface, drinking my own reflection, a travelling oddity, with a long feathered neck casting a fine head down… gazing but not seeing upon that which has been my life, my birth and rebirths through stages of being recognised, if only through closed eyes…I watched them in their waters paddling carefree, with grace and freedom, I wondered if we had been mothered, if I had been mothered by the sameness I craved that thing about a swan that makes beauty a needful habit…I gawked beyond, with an orange beak that quivered, trying to see beyond maturity at a future more fanciful, before I even understood, before I actually saw, my own nature even…in hindsight is how a Black Swan always sees…is always seen…indeed, an unlikely likelihood, the most despicable of rarities in the glare of what is known, splashing away in its own muddy pool, the circles connecting breaking each other’s cycles, fading away and yet forming new beginnings from ancient endings, just the trimmings from any lessons upon the tear resistant feelings of a good old Black Swan…with a heart of raw meat, for that it was it is, what it always was, tenderised by the briny water drops that constantly fall, from the heavens or from the depths, it doesn’t seem to really matter, good seasoning makes the pain all the more scrumptious…