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Poetry, and more

Owl

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Poetry
Political Waste-Hole
For That Great Being
Owl

Owl
 

One morn, or twas it day?
well the day it was, or that is as so I say
for early afar in distant lands
the owl came down and bestowed a gift
not a worldly possession
no it was not of this world’s kind, but a greater kind
one only bestowed upon the great
no it was greater and valued as a child
for it was no more,
than friendship

something so small and valuable,
something so tiny by the gods,
and something so worthless,
as by the friendless,
but receivith as the friendless,
and friendless no more,
and as so the friend is seeing it in a greater glow,
whether it be silver or gold, it no matter,
for it was no more,
than friendship

it looked me in the eye,
and said boy, or are you sir?
no matter, for I have found you in this distant land,
or as he would say,
why boy you have nothing,
and yet you are wrong,
for life is more than gold and silver,
for neither the ruffles of everyday life need color,
nor do the violins and the birds need noise,
when all they have,
is the gift,
no,
not of these worldly possession’s,
it as seen as an ant,
and as by the friendless it is a distraction,
but by the friends it is life,

not only does it bring the golden globe of a smile,
but it brings the dark crevices of reality,
for this gift, not only is it something worthless,
but at the same time something that is desired,
something that is tormented,
dropped to the deepest chasms and the molten pits of hell

for at the same time it is a pedestal
shining with the tears, and love of a thousand men
and yet I have seen it spat and slaughtered by many,
men, daughters, sons, children
and yet,
it is my life,
it seen as a thing to be valued,
and seen as a thing to be hated,
a punishment,
but at the same,
a gift,
a joy,
a life.

 
-The Ant Maid

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