Once there was a creature, born from the infinite. Once there was a creature, born from the living and the dead. It came to being one starry night, in a field made of gold. Cosmic light broke barren ground raw blue splendor formed, it then shouted and it roared. It had no idea what to become, so it tore at its own soul. Split at birth a trembling it caused, through earth wide, high, and low, not of beast or storm or seas, or crumbling down in rights to be free, but within its bosom life swirled round, unknown to its own, force and gravity fell alone by the banks of darkened stone.
The creature roamed to and fro under twisted sands splitting dark into shadowed pieces of new sky, a discontented maddening torment of desolation and hope denied brewed in star fury gazes. A silver twilight woke the night. Clouds came heavy, they came strong, the creature howled betrayal’s song, sitting at the edge of horizon’s first light, the creature was alone.
Through years and ages past, the creature grew tall and lean, still searching the great wide world for a place to call home, then found a meadow in a iron crater, a wide looking eye in its center. On the edge, a songbird perched, singing its first song, the creature clawed and scrapped until the bird escaped, seeing it fly away, the creature fell back and wept on the ground over loss of love never found.
But then out of the iron bowl, out from the rocks shown a place where life and time collide, two halves of color sewn, sinking deep within the iron nest until above the hills, over hard lands, and gray clouds, above the sky in a combustion dawn, grew a yellow sun to shine. The creature felt warmth, through lighting and storm, through rains still ice and snow.
In this newness the creature acalled out to the rumbling light, “Is there any that are my own? ” Vibration filled the air deep in the creature’s soul, “You are my own, you are your own, I am your own. Look around, born of water and sweeping wonder, fire and calming quakes, in waves of layered rays of light, and wrapped in sweet morning dew, you were made to be a companion to life.” To be alive the creature sat, to be alive the creature thought.
One thought on “The Living Creature (Fable in Song)”
At first this poem felt disturbing to me about wandering around in chaos and never finding her true home. But then, if we are lucky, we find ourselves; our core; our purpose, and we relax and live.