Apr 8, 2013

The bird flies through the moment with a broken wing,
Its eyes blind to a crystal that lies to its advance.
Gracefully yet unapologetically its dull head strikes the glass.
A crack begins to grow like a God seeing rise to a web of rivers.
Such a sightless bird leaves upon the vase a strike,
And from such an impact, quietly bleeds fortitude.

That bird embodied their words and taunts,
And such a vase was the fabric of my sanity.

- Bear.

I like philosophical books, math diagrams, poetry, helping others to think, and black and white pictures. Subscribe via RSS.