Remember the Birds

Today another yesterday,
she wakes again and pours another cup,
another shining dream that shatters
soon as she wakes up.
This time she dreamed a flying bird
that felt so real,
but still not real enough.

Another day so much the same,
a spool unwinding rope,
and all burned up by searing flame
that's lit with dying hope.

Another tired traffic light
and a morning drive-thru meal.
Five minutes lost of precious time
the day so loves to steal.
She's slipping round the corners,
turning in to an empty lot
with a soul that wants to feel.

Another day so much the same,
a spool unwinding rope,
and all burned up by searing flame
that's lit with dying hope.

A little bird with yellow wings
streaks high above the lot.
Our lady's halfway to the door.
She remembers she's forgot
a tiny pack of papers
in the back seat of the car,
and she rushes to the spot.

Another day so much the same,
a spool unwinding rope,
and all burned up by searing flame
that's lit with dying hope.

She opens up the creaking car
and grabs the waiting stack.
The yellow bird swoops high above
the earth, and circles back.
The woman walks into the door
and sits to punch the clock.
Another day to track...

Another day so much the same,
a spool unwinding rope,
and all burned up by searing flame
that's lit with dying hope.

She works another day away
all smilingly, she seems.
A little bird dies in the air
with talons and hawk's screams.
A woman scrapes out shards of life
she's stolen from the hours
and clings to in her dreams.

Another day so much the same,
a spool unwinding rope,
and all burned up by searing flame
that's lit with dying hope.

(Photo credit: "Stormy Weather Friend" from Jeffrey on Flickr)

Check out The Giggling Stream on Facebook!