Resignation

Into the den of the wicked blackbird

and past my less fortunate peers,

I arrived in an orchard humming with growth

and the beauty I no longer possessed.

 

Through the thick branches and under their leaves-

who provided proof to skeptics

that come spring again she’d be productive-

and to a heavy halt I came.

 

Had I arrived, or was I still troubled?

Like my red and black pride-ink, permanent

in a condition that made me a puppet

to the callous claws of the smirking blackbird.

 

And so in the darkness I surrendered

to the smiles who mock my light.

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