Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

 Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird


I
A blackbird perched upon the wire,
Its wings spread wide, a flame of fire.
It looks beyond the world in flight,
Into the darkened heart of night.


II
The blackbird sings, a mournful sound,
Its notes reverberate, echoing around.
In the silence of the early dawn,
It calls to the world, to the breaking morn.


III
The shadows stretch across the ground,
The blackbird watches without a sound.
In the quiet, it stands still,
A sentinel against the world’s will.


IV
A flash of black against the sky,
A solitary figure soaring high.
It rides the wind, the unseen force,
Guided by instinct, free by course.


V
The blackbird rests upon the earth,
Its golden eyes searching for worth.
In the underbrush, it finds its peace,
A quiet world where troubles cease.


VI
It dances through the morning rain,
Its feathers slick, yet not in vain.
The droplets fall, the world is still,
The blackbird's song, a balm, a thrill.


VII
In the evening, it takes to flight,
A shadow, soaring into the night.
The moon looks down, a silver glow,
Guiding the bird as it does go.


VIII
The blackbird watches from the tree,
A silent observer, just to be.
Its eyes are full of ancient lore,
A keeper of secrets, evermore.


IX
Upon the ground, the blackbird stands,
Its tiny claws gripping the sands.
It surveys the world with steady grace,
In search of something in its place.


X
The wind blows through the blackbird’s feathers,
A whisper soft, as if to tether.
It shivers, but remains unbroken,
A symbol of resilience, unspoken.


XI
Its song becomes a melody,
A haunting echo of memory.
Of days gone by, of things to come,
Its voice a bridge between them, spun.


XII
The blackbird soars above the trees,
A creature of the air, the breeze.
It is both free and bound by time,
A paradox in flight, sublime.


XIII
At last, it lands upon a branch,
Its wings spread wide, a final stance.
It looks at the world through ancient eyes,
A creature that knows both truth and lies.


Reflection


The blackbird moves in ways unseen,
A symbol of the spaces in between.
In every flutter, every glance,
It holds a world of fate and chance.


It is both the question and the answer,
A quiet song, a subtle dancer.
Its movements, though small, set the course,
Of winds, of lives, of force.


The blackbird is the watcher and the watched,
A creature of freedom, yet never botched.
Its life is both mystery and truth,
A lesson in the ways of youth.


From dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn,
The blackbird sings, and life moves on.
In its song, we find our way,
Through the dark, to the light of day.


And so, we watch, we listen, we learn,
As the blackbird’s wings take their turn.
In the sky, in the air, in the heart,
We are all bound to play our part.


Each moment is a whisper, a call,
A reflection in the blackbird’s thrall.
And in its song, we find our place,
A fleeting journey through time and space.


Through the wind, through the rain, through the sky,
The blackbird's song will never die.
For it is both the question and the key,
To the mysteries we seek to see.


#Blackbird #Poetry #Nature #SelfReflection #Flight #Freedom #Song #Resilience #Symbolism #Mystery #Time #Journey #Life #Inspiration #Birds #PoeticJourney

Location: United States

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