The Dawning

The black bird 
outside my window
calls to his friends
or warns his enemies
with the hard caw
of self-righteousness,
the tiny tweets
and the calming coos
of my meditative morning mates.
His intrusion
reminds me
of the shackles
and chains
and iron-clad judgments
my mind employs
to imprison others – 
even the black bird, himself.
How do I know
what lies beneath his caw?
Last time I checked,
I couldn’t speak bird. 
Painting “Dawning” by eileen Ennen

One comment

  1. Here we are in Mankato Minnesota preparing to go to the internment service for Sharon‘s daughter Kim. And I read this poem to Carl. We both love it. It speaks volumes. You must publish your book of poems.p

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    Liked by 1 person

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