Remembering.

In the digital bunker
of my dimming room
I am staring out.. again…

Peanut hangers sway.

Birds zip and dart.
They love the fuchsia tree.
and so do I.

The peeling orange bark…
Bewitching flowers winsome
in the gathering ink of night.

Betrayal is a stabbing thing.
Knife-edged…it is a treachery.
The Judas kiss a misery.
that sears within.

The wind is stronger now.
The birds swing wildly
Clinging on…..like some small
circus folk of great dexterity…

My molten mind
clings to their energy.

The night is darkening.

I must release tormenting thought …
Give wings to it …and let it fly,
Beyond the fuchsia tree…
The sweet birds as my guide.

Kristine Byrne. Dec. 2018