Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

White Owls

White owls wail like they’ve heard this tale before,
like they know how it ends,
an endless screech as the sun sets,
but life is full of surprises,
so maybe those wailing warblers will sing a sweet song after all.

I am constricted under the cool glow of my magnificent moon,
she smiles down, as if I am her most treasured daughter,
and with every moment, I am unraveled,
finding freedom as the seconds slip by,
and she whispers warm wishes in my pierced, imperfect ear.

My madness has become a map.
I slink along the streets like a snake,
teddy bear in hand,
wild words between my luscious lips.
The night’s sky is shining and there is a bright light in my eyeline,
for once, I know exactly where I’m going.

Rainbows rise beneath my shoes,
and I don’t sing the blues anymore, my baby blue,
because you are clear within my sights,
and the white owls are jamming to some sweet jazz.

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