The Heartbroken Nightingale
Woman Tree - Salvador Dali
Whispering into the darkness, a nightingale fades away softly,
this nightingale had lost her song,
a little weep and a few notes escape,
draining empty with shiny droplets from a silvery stream,
the notes escape her in a swan like web entangling and hovering,
pricking and wailing as if piercing through the seemingly ephemeral layers of her mighty heart,
talks to me and you,
love is not all letters and cruising around on sundays,
it isn't about what you said or what she thought you said,
it was about when she'd fly away and the memories that would play,
the good, the bad, the suave, the passionate and all things reminiscent,
she speaks not, because she was only meant to sing,
as if the burning words were her emotion filled notes,
the letters, all dead, burning as they jumped back to life in her voice,
a warmth she projects, even in her present state,
engulfing the night in the entirety of her silence,
bares all as she rises above her own flowing song in the air,
which blows at her, overwhelming her being.
All things pass, will this pass too?
she'd wonder, as she'd lost the only
pillow of comfort she'd ever known: Love.
Labels: Reflecting, Sadness, Surreal
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