my blackbird sings again.

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 I’ve always been a bird.

I’ve always been a blackbird. my heart has always turned to sing the most illuminating, transcendental tune in the dead of its winter. in the dead of what must take so much time to be fixed. still, it sees what could be, it sees the glimmering faint lights of approaching spring. it sees God’s inevitable mercy in all things.


I’ve always been hopping from one dream to the next, eyes pinned to stretched skies and clouds so dear. I’d be in my own world, in shrouded mystery, in exploration and mischievous innocence, a knowing they’d never suspect. the dark coat of my outward introspection sometimes haunting, alluring— the reason behind the constant glimmer in my eyes.


alas, my blackbird is singing again. it’s time to fly.

going with grace in an inscrutable world.

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