A poem by Michael

by | Jan 8, 2012 | Letters & Poems

Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night

Early in the morning before the sun expressed itself before blackbirds stopped singing in the dead of night the bells began to ring candles on windowsills pushed the darkness out gently but relentlessly and angels marveled at this sudden illumination

Doors were flung open the smell of apples and cinnamon filled the early air beckoning onlookers to enter and feast at this table

As each in turn came in to see a flower grew beside each step a simple signpost bidding all to stop and smell the borscht The cooks were busy cooking filling pots with fragrant herbs flicking morsels from their fingers to attentive balls of love the children all akimbo flying fearlessly with glee as old men in suspenders lay about with trousers loose And love my friend abounded painting colors in the air bumping into one another as the music lifted high the roof beams of illusion stripping useless and un-needed complications of our fashions

Were you there upon that morning are you wandering close by or still a blackbird singing in the darkened dead of night

Your wing is not so broken you cannot learn to fly let the early breath of morning open up your weary heart Leave the baggage of your journey in the box beside the door all you need has always been here in the closets of your being Leave the safety of the mother time to fly with mighty wings the night has ended brilliantly in the light of truthfulness Michael


“When you can recognize who you are not, then there is a possibility to wake up and discover who you really are.”