Hiraeth

the cracked burst of blood shot through the beautiful morning air.

The swan lay dying, dying

Dropped and drooped, long white neck against her watery nest.

The little boy, furious

Injustice creeped along the beating heart of his wrestling chest,

Squeezing it so tight

He believed the swan

And he, himself

were one.

The air settled down into a blueprint of the same sort of shape that he had felt before

The shape of a brutal beast that trampled upon him everywhere

The screaming cacophony of cruel fate

And as he swam through the clear waters

The bloody smooth appendages of the pristine animal mother of his mortality

Tore apart, a surgery that lacked finesse

Laying at his back.

The intestinal genocide that followed him

Gave him a terrible sense of hiraeth…

The terrible, truly,

Deeply melancholic, brutal vision

Of flight

Mid-air

He finally knew the wave of the world

So incredibly powerful, the smooth flow of air, sound, light

Love & death and darkness

It was a tragically gorgeous moment.