The Thorn / Michael Kwack

It seemed a big bird had flown;

For, onto the desk of my own,

A feather was falling,

Through the air fluttering.

As if in a dream did I gaze:

A tiny bird it was!

I stretched an arm,

And the bird got on my palm.

The whole body, in bright gold,

Was the wing of this bird.

Should I hold it on my palm?

Let it go afloat in...

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far end of the graveyard

cant find it for tall weeds

but why did I come here?

thorn pricks, leg bleeds

this grass needs cutting

Billy always was a liar

there's daffodils dead

more blood from a briar

should have put on a coat

hurt me when he strayed

its starting to snow again

not only me he betrayed

trips on a trailing bramble

marble knocks her ...

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She drifted in and out of view

passing from gossamer to stone,

floating and then, sinking down low,

singing the words you wrote for her,

the sound now a sick cacophony

mocking your emotions,

stabbing at your heart.

Holding the now faded rose

that you had pinned in her hair,

but truly, a thorn in her side

had been your gift to her,

the beautiful bloom

was invisib...

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