Birds. Maybe they chirp in Central Florida where I currently live, but I don’t remember hearing them. The past eleven days I’ve lived in my childhood home in West Virginia. One of the curious things that strikes me when I come home are the birds. They greet me each morning in that poetic fashion of cheery friendliness.
Even now, early in the afternoon, their joyful songs flutter to my ears. I feel tears well up behind my nose and cheeks, perched and ready to burst down my cheeks as the thought of hopping the jet home tonight invades my heart. I live in a climate I loathe. I miss the climate of my childhood. I feel trapped. Yet the birds chirp and don’t even hint at anything forlorn.
Why would they? They’re home. Where the should be. Today’s off-the-cuff poem will be inspired by my little songstress outside the window…
Funny how life glides into dark recesses
Pokes holes in one’s soul in careless stabs
One little flutter into daylight and a bird sings
Songs return from cicadas and breezes and dreams
Funny how life flutters to the ground
Trapped under the foot of responsibility
Immobilized by lessons better left unlearned
Freed by the simple act of awareness
Funny how life limps back to hope
Despite the odds, past experiences, and failures
Each tiny stumble forward an aching
Each subtle increment of progress a boon
Funny how life lends one a bird
Her song a timeless reminder
Melodies that sing of future, brightness, peace
Personalized just for you.
Poetry books by Michael Ray King: