A myth I dreamed, ... The Zorastorians and Some Native Americans have placed their dead to be eaten by scavenging birds.
Wild Birds
Wild birds cross the evening sky,
Winging home for the night.
The old ones say that they are stillborn babes,
Seeking out the last light.
The sky is a painting of many hues.
A constantly changing wondrous sight.
The old ones say the sky mirrors life.
Wild birds punctuate with their flight.
I've seen them scavenge the last berry,
From a winter torn bush’s snowy blight.
The old ones say it's the last feast of winter,
For those who won't see the spring rite.
Wild birds peck a carcass clean.
Their anger loud and bleak.
The old ones say that it is revenge,
For a wrongful death they seek.
So when I die don't bury me,
In the ground so deep,
Tie me in a tall tree,
My bones to pick for the meek.
Geezus, where did you get these words from? You almost had me going
for a second, there. :0)
Reviewed by Katy Walsvik (Reader)
Reviewed on May 23, 2004
My, Ron.. it is to another place, another level that you took me with this. I love the continuing thread of the 'old ones' in each verse, nearly conversational, storytelling sort of feel. There's an ancient feel to this.. a joining of worlds, then, now and in the end, that future sureness that we all have coming one day. I was quite mesmerized by this . katy xox.
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c
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I love the way you crafted it! Love the photo too!
for a second, there. :0)
No pecking at me thanks.......I want to be cremated and my ashes scattered in the ocean!!
Love Tinka