It is this time of yearThat draws me in againTo the art of storytelling. The sea shivers in anticipationThe birds gather to fly south. But what stories do I have to tell in the long, dark hours?Stories of loss, pain and defeat?Stories of those who…  | By animalizard on September 21, 2024 | It is this time of year
That draws me in again
To the art of storytelling. The sea shivers in anticipation
The birds gather to fly south. But what stories do I have to tell in the long, dark hours?
Stories of loss, pain and defeat?
Stories of those who will never come home?
Stories of those waiting to come home? To tell a story is to open a fresh wound,
To find all its colours writhing in pain,
And an eye among them
Crying salty tears that sting
And never quite let them heal.
From time to time they arch their backs in agony
As though giving birth to a new song;
A song of pain, One that knows not night nor day,
Nor dark nor light,
But it hums softly in the background,
A frequency we will carry
Gently to our final resting place. | | | |  | You can also reply to this email to leave a comment. | | | | |
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