A weird poem about a bird on a pole outside my home. |
-Touching Death- by Keaton Foster On a pole I don’t know A creature A winged seraphim Not from Heaven Not from Hell But from in between This cannot be just chance Or reality at a glance This is something more Something Unable to be ignored His plumage, black His eyes, lifeless His size, frightening His talons, like razors A magnificent creature In such a mediocre world Often viewed with blinders on I must take this chance Because Touching death Comes along just once I step much closer Wanting to know Wanting to understand I speak the only question That I deem fitting Are you here for me He does not reply He remains motionless Unable to resist Again I step much closer So close that I could touch Again I ask Are you here for me Again he does not reply Wondrous is the mind No answer means more Than any that could be given What if is as wide as it is deep Uncertainty at times like this Truly reigns supreme I reach out my hand Placing it upon his head Downward I stroke What I’m now sure Is a physical representation Of an undeniable end Feeling both life and death Is something not relatable I cannot explain anything more Nor would I dare Just as quick I removed my hand On a pole I don’t know A creature A winged seraphim Not from Heaven Not from Hell But from in between It turned and looked at me A time and a place Did I see Spreading his wings Allegorically he screamed And I understood So clear and so precise He flew off in a direction In opposition to me And the remainder of my life… Touching Death Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2013 |