Mocking Bird

Have I questioned myself more or less,
and have I questioned myself at all?
Whether the blinded can even digress
to have seen the beauty of fall?
Or have the unhearing heard at dawn,
the dancing ripples upon the shore,
or can the mendicant forever anon
claim to have met a welcoming door?
If even now, and not years before
I put these thoughts before all else
Do I have the privilege to abhor
an insolent god that favors silence?
Perhaps I lost too much in life
to know the joy of rejoicing past,
perhaps I raise this chalice of strife
perhaps myself to imprecation I cast.
If ever love was a ripening fig
if bled from it the most purest breath
then fear I for this wilted sprig,
no longer do I mourn its death.
A world that walks to rest at ease,
and every wish on faithless word,
where may I find solace please?
and murder my dear mocking bird.

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34 thoughts on “Mocking Bird

  1. “Questioning life is not hard, and finding answers is easier still, but sometimes, we realize something we did not want to, these beguiling realities are the mocking birds we all wish to murder.”

  2. It clawed its way straight to my heart. Feeling melancholy now. Beautiful…
    I have a tendency to be somewhat of an impressionist in my poetry. This does it too, and so much more.
    Thank you

  3. So many elegant words! You inspire me to not settle for an ordinary word when so many more exotic ones await me! Thanks for following my blog! πŸ™‚

  4. This is a perfectly written poem…… well done… You have an wonderful sense of assonance, which I noticed in your most recent poem also, “May I Envy the Blossom….” It makes the poetry come alive…. I read a lot of poetry and try to be as positive as I wish everyone could be…. but your poetry is very good. Of course we all need polishing, but that is the only advice I could ever find for your work….. Excellent poetry…..

  5. I am not sure what I changed, and perhaps I am becoming transformed. As the poem weaves, I am made drunk with the weight and the challenge. Such a great, great ending, and a profound poem overall. Thank you.

    Have I questioned myself more or less,
    Whether blind can digress?
    Or have the unhearing heard at dawn,
    the dancing ripples upon the shore,
    or can the mendicant forever
    claim to have met a welcoming door?
    If even now, and not years before
    I put these thoughts before all else
    Do I have the privilege to abhor
    an insolent god that favors silence?
    Perhaps I lost too much in life
    to know the joy of rejoicing past,
    perhaps I raise this chalice of strife
    perhaps myself to imprecation I cast.
    If ever love was a ripening fig
    if bled from it the most purest breath
    then fear I for this wilted sprig,
    no longer do I mourn its death.
    A world that walks to rest at ease,
    and every wish on faithless word,
    where may I find solace please?
    and murder my dear mocking bird.

  6. No, I wasn’t questioning whether the blind can digress, I was making a change in the text, where earlier I had forgotten to put a “the.” Yes, the blind can digress. I don’t think I’ve ever called you on your logic.

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