Poetry 'n Prose

The Burial

Our conversation waned
we stood looking down
from opposite sides
of the broken seabird
black wings spread
clutching the shore
going nowhere
but slick enough
to light our way
in evolution’s spark

We wondered
at this creature
sideways head bowed
in resignation
the bird had sung his song
his heart and flesh
still soft
his soul woven now
with seaweed and stone

a monument
to the permutations
of chance.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

4 replies on “The Burial”

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