58. Black Bird

It comes to me in dead of night when dark dreams flood the mind.

A vision of black in mine eye which sends a shiver through the bones;

A vision to horrify.

It dwells on hill cemetery.

Perched on an old oak tree,

Barely to move; never to fly,

Though screams in stinging undertones a loathsome lullaby.


Staring, though more so, glaring…

Haunting. Watching. Stunning the nerves.

No wish it has to fly,

Do anything more than gaze;

A gaze to damnify.

I know that it doth hate me with a passion few have known;

That’s why it resides on high piercing me with it’s cold stare.

In darkness I lie.

Oh cruel, black bird of night release your ghastly hold.

Oh why? Oh why?

Can’t thou fear anothers’ soul?

Forever night is nigh.

K. Aldaya, 4/25/04

Picture: “Her Graveyard” by Gothicolors Donna Snyder; http://fineartamerica.com/featured/her-graveyard-gothicolors-images.html


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