You’re Still Here

 

 

     I only have one friend,

they be a friend that has me at the end of a long, arduous………

 

     ……….years ago ‘that’ air rifle took a life,

a rifle known and conquered by a clown,

   not that in the shoulder – the man had never

taken aim seriously but,

   there was a disagreement in understanding -

where only humour could muster any purpose.

 

     ‘Wit can be a total fresh of air -

or have within us all - a puzzle where

our waking dead never have a pulse.’

 

     Upon the doorstep on a Sunny Day,

a butterfly lands to assist a joyful chirp of bird,

   frowning, I am wondering if a ‘Patch Adams’ love

has yet again been stolen from a silent tortured sentinel?

 

     My day surrounds the joy of a small bird -

that has no enemies upon a plane known paradise,

   and far from being bird brained,

they are as intelligent as clouds, intelligent

as sunbeams moonbeams astral planes and auratic

   states of green and red;

        (it is not that they are bird brained that has them

             eaten by a predator, for theirs is not the understanding paradise

                  has been, invaded).

 

                            'Is this my day on ‘Being There?’

 

2.

 

     I wake, the bird wakes,

I sleep and as I fall the bird quietens,

   as a nightmare persists, the bird taps at the window

      to wake me from a death.

 

   The bird, is a friend,

        this bird, may be my Daughter or a Son,

             my wife The Earth did take, as it now

                  takes all from the persistence ‘we’ are owed a life?

 

     This bird may be an Atticus Finch that laughs and says,

          ‘it was thrown out, we knew you were empath the day you were born,

               jealousy be an uncompromising entity that never bares a reason to its host.’

 

     ‘You Talk?’

 

     “no, we are all here as ‘beings’ that have a waver of doubt

          the moment we understand our union of ethereal universe,

               this is not a quarrel why you held the rifle and fired single shot,

                    this is an ask, why upon this ‘heaven’ did the rifle pay a visit?”

 

          I shrug my shoulders,

               “me too” the bird states before song repeats their charm.

 

3.

 

     Walking by while butterfly rests upon my shoulder,

          a winged beetle at my sleeve and a few of feathered flock,

               a tarantula at my feet asks

                    “may I join you in mobility?”

 

     ‘As a sentinel, have I not the right to have the tarantula take

   upon a lapel and rest upon my stride?

        As an empath, can not each life know inherent loneliness

           where compassion only knows a clown?

     As a shine, can not I know we all seek that same blue horizon

        and know our life here is shared?’

 

The Tarantula in Reply;

 

          “that is what I asked too, afore a visit by a fox,

               and when upon our meeting I stared upon my death,

                    the fox said he too, before the hunt began an ignorance of horns!”

 

 

 

Michael J Waite. 6th June 2023.

Dedicated to ‘life’ and our shared Ethereal Universe.