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…


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