A wise man once said to me
"Son, when you see two birds
flying through the air
and a hawk swoops down
and seizes one of them,
do not waste time thinking
about the one who became
a meal."
I don't trust men
who call themselves wise.
Is it wise to discard the fate
of the doomed?
Will their plight
drown us in misery?
It is hard not to drown now
floundering as we are
the churning waters lapping
against our outstretched arms.
The time of change is often
the time of dying
And what bird could we be?
Will you soar tomorrow
or have your bones cracked
by curved talons?
Yes, you cannot think about it
but in the dark of the early morn
my mind wanders to the ditch
and lingers in the cold caverns
where bodies become one
with the earth.
Maybe that bird deserved it.
Maybe he flew too high
or was seized by a strange impulse,
a manic stupidity,
and he danced for the hawk
and dared him to come and see
if his wings were faster,
if his talons were as sharp
as the wise folk said.
You're right, wise man.
I can't cry for him
or me
or anyone who dares death
with a reckless abandon.
Sometimes we don't deserve
any pity for the things we do.
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