Falcon

Master of the Sky.

Feathers rustle, muscles ripple, wings glide.

You peck out my eyes.

You tear my flesh.

You suck the marrow from my bones.

I scream, I cry, claw at mottled skin.

But I am powerless.

You leave me lay, a breath from death,

You let me heal so that You another day can come to prey.

Here I am.

Deformed and pained, never to be the same.

There You go.

I want to, in my arms hold curved beauty of power and strength, bend it with my will

And bring You down

To my level.

See you quiver instead of watching me tremble from Your lofty heights.

I want to crush Your delicate bones.

Smell sweet, damp, dark dirt welcome You into its deep caverns.

I want to make sure that You will never hurt me again.

But I can't.

We are linked.

If I were to strike the Mighty Falcon down, I would severe my ties with the skies.

When You pluck me from the earth, with Your razor claws piercing my back;

 For a fleeting moment, I feel the wind on my face, wiping away my tears.

Then, when You decide it's time for me to plummet;

It dances through my hair and cushions my fall.

It is this bit of beauty that helps with the pain and guides

Me through when You decide I must suffer again.

One day wind and prey will unite, and Oh,

My Mighty Falcon, won't You be in a terrible plight!

Tschüss,
Marta Frieda Hart