Wise Owl

Tue, 07/29/2014 - 15:02 -- Chapman

Location

Steps echo

Across concrete rough as sand.

Cries pound through air cold as ice.

I search for the source,

In darkness it lies. 

 

Entering the bleak alley, 

I am silence among mayhem.

Viewing three others, remaining hidden.

As a wary owl scans the dreary field,

I absorb the ghastly sight.

 

As I lie in wait,

I fear not the demons

Towering over the lone soul,

For they are the mice and

I am the owl.

 

As I lie in wait,

I hear words of hatred and spite.

I see iron fists bound tight.  

I hear words of 'faggot' and 'dike.'

Hammer against anvil, 

The fists rain down.

 

As I lie in wait,

My watchful eyes catch

Those tear-stricken upon the floor. 

They speak of pain and sorrow.

They beg for mercy and a better tomorrow.

The flint is struck, the flame catches,

An ember that burns close to heart.

 

I shall not extinguish this fire.

Heat rising, blood fit to boil,

Pushing the once wary owl into turmoil.

Among silence I am no longer.

Words like talons, I slash down to bone.

The blood of mice fills my hunger.  

 

They gaze on, expression blank.

Struck down with shame, limping away. 

Flame cools, the ember extinguished.

 

Victorious I am, but I feel no bliss.

Surreal clouds tell of something amiss.

 

I Blink. Steps echo across concrete.

I Blink. Cries pound through the air.

Awakened from dreams of justice, 

Looking again down the bleak alley,

The gasping pain within now causing

Trembles of fear.

 

I turn.

 

I turn and walk on.

Cries of pain now

Falling on deaf ears,

I walk on.

 

Better to

Not interfere.

I walk on, 

 

For I am society.

 

I am the wise owl.

 

Watching always,

Acting rarely.

 

Guide that inspired this poem: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741