Awakening

Pale leaves reaching for their own quiet longing we've yet to know
Shiver despite the sunlight that is a little closer to them
Than the window, blanketed in thick screens and
Polished wood painted only in consideration of today's aesthetic

The sunlight refracting from the slightest glints
Of hope hiding in the corners of this dull place called home
With tender hands and hushed voices we moved the viny wreath
In which a tirelessly woven birds' nest huddled there

Bearing eggs the color of the starchy sky on its good days
We watched them hatch from their chambers of blue
And grow day by day their fragile feathers whispering
Our clasped hearts yearning for them four

When the bitter cold air of the summer solstice
Sends sharp breezes that swallow and prod us
One bird is found crumpled beneath layers of autumn leaves
That still will not relent even after the snowy nights

Time crawls on as sheets of quiet gray coat the skies
Whose heavy tears that should have passed shower down our place called home
Eccentric calls of one in learning echo from the wood
One whose brother lost, whose traces of young innocence still evident

Nestled in an soaked windbreaker beneath a decaying ash
Sopping wet locks of tangles fall carelessly, fading into darkness
Watching the familiar plume of orange and gray whose inescapable suffering
Lets it lift its head up to peer through the clouds

And sing