Sunday, February 24, 2013

Fierce Fledglings

The Echo of What Remains Collected Poems of Wanda Lea Brayton

Memories lie furtive beneath such solemn soil;
there is a gauze-like gathering of shadows, 
tormented perfumes ascending from darker mists 
than we would willingly know, an acceptance we must engage 
without excuse, lest dreams ameliorate shadows' surrender 
without defining their sharpened edges. 

Sudden death asphyxiates innocence, aghast; 
tenderness is expunged by unrelenting, arcane wisdom 
adults seem to tether to their unyielding masts, 
understanding these unutterable depths of ancient divinity. 

Fierce fledglings know a secret whimper for mercy 
as their wilder wings are excised by a casual brutality in their midst, 
leaving only a brief flap's cruel echo behind before discovering 
the eternal grace of flight, before their formidable spirits 
are drained into more ethereal surroundings, 
their blank eyes gazing into sun's bitter warmth.

Breath protracted, welts of courage blistered by calumny 
steal pretentious thoughts from a child's mere gaze 
upon the scythe's harrowing harvest; 

their disenchantment becomes a brilliant amulet, 
a sepia plea of volatile abstraction, a confiscation of destruction, 
a spectre of darkness furrowed beneath silken flesh, 
pristine bone inclined and gleaming under the dire demands of dusk, 
a catastrophic realization of survival's futility
as silvery feathers are received to atrophy in dust - 

another sycophantic lie perpetrated 
upon the shining hopes of youth 
once overflowing with color, 

now monochromatic 
from too many maudlin, morose moments, 
demoralized in their alignment, 
swaying far away from truth.