Soaring high above the clouds,
I look down,
To see the stillness, and I recount,
What things once were.
My companion, a winged creature,
Listened to the ramblings of an old bird,
With silent nods.
So there I was old chap, in my prime,
It was an old and ageing tree,
A splendid perch.
From the highest branches of which
I could see,
A ravine, and the river that flowed,
And the other creatures who lived,
Because there was plenty to eat and see,
Places to be.
So like perpetual milk and honey,
It did seem.
These creatures would enjoy their days;
Until one day, when something happened.
The creatures turned on themselves and,
The river ran red, the ravine burned;
And they came for my tree with weapons,
As I flew away, I caught glimpses;
Flora and fauna writhing in pain, piles of corpses,
Dying and dead.
I never looked back after that, I kept on.
Or maybe it was disbelief; how could they?
The images still remain though, taunting,
But that was years ago, and me?
I've come this far.
A gory tale you tell, and tell it well.
That you do.
But never once did you tell me about
Where you are now.
We've crossed mountains and oceans, and deserts.
But your mind is a prisoner, trapped in time.
Never now yet.
There will always be that which remains, in the minds of a few.
A prisoner you are, if you choose to be. Stop thinking.
Let go, move on.
We're birds. We fly around the world some days.
Just doing what and going wherever we please.
Fine lives we lead.
With that he turned his head away, as if to say.
Be calm, still and at peace with yourself and
The world below.
And so we continued, a silent pair.
It takes time,
But that's all we really have...and I smile.
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