The Owl

Once upon a devil’s hour passing, in madness I was wandering

Inner treachery playing, foully at my thoughts, pondering

I stumbled nearly falling, when above me came a sudden scratching

“Is some creature stirring?" I muttered "Some creature in my wood

Beast or fowl scratching, Tis only some creature in my wood

This and nothing more"

There I recalled the night was a time of hunting, a malicious replenishing

A grim rebirth of life in nourishing, I too was in need of replenishing

Not of birth, but of washing, Dirt, I carried deep in the crevasses of

My skin, dirt unwashed, from sorrow unspoken, from deeds unclaimed

To absolve guilt was the birth of my seeking, guilt for the radiant maiden, Alyssa

To flee lament festering sweet and decrepit for the fallen, Alyssa

Vanished here for evermore

Around me an unseen rustling of leaves wickedly swaying, in wind blowing

Brought forth a terror, a wretched seizing, a seizing never before endured

My beating heart rapt furious against my heaving chest, “breathe”

I stood repeating, to still turbulence rising “Tis some creature stirring-

Tis some creature unrelated to me, Tis some hidden creature stirring,

Is this and nothing more.”

It was here my courage came back to me complete, in resolve, did I greet

Fearless I stood alone, and called to this hidden creature, “Be gone”

My voice a shout, my arms raised, I demanded “vile creature take leave from hidden wood”

Silence only remaining, no fluttering of wing, no running of hoof, only stillness residing

In my throat did I profound a whisper of the lost and lone “Alyssa”

And surrounding wood did answer in echo of ghastly prose “Alyssa”

Was this and nothing more.

In wary feeling I stood faltering, blighted by harried fires burning

Again, I heard a stirring closer, a menace threatening, its peril louder

“Certainly” said I, “Certainly tis some woodland creature on branch above

Tis only for my eyes to reveal what concealed, is some creature shadowed,

Then my heart will still when, this mystery solved, is some creature stirring

When, lone and desolate, I see this sound, is only some creature stirring,

This and nothing more”

With my lighter opened did I alight, this hideous and foul night

There above me perched, a wise owl, of barnwood abandoned

No reverence made, no motive allayed, in stillness the owl stayed

Then with disregard this fowl moved from perch-to-perch, till on lower branch

At its behest, just above my head the owl perched and sat on this lower branch

Perched and glared and nothing more

Tis then this bird in mocking, filled my inner turmoil, by its head tilting

By grave dug shallow, in hallows forgotten, its dark eyes held me hollow

“By what accusation has thou come here?” I demanded “Thou art unjust,

To Judge and menace, to wander from court of rusted, falling barnwood

Tell me what tis thy vile name, Dark fowl of deadened and falling barnwood

Quoth the Owl “Whoo”

I stood mesmerized by this wretched fowl to hear this word unincumbered

There could be no meaning to this, no relevance, for this blind bewildering

For it is assured that there is none alive, that would not agree, that none would abide

That none has come upon the misfortune of a fowl as miserly, as this

No beastly fowl perched upon naked tree’s branch above his head, as this

With such, grim a question as “Whoo”

But the owl sitting with ill-omen on maple branch above hath only spoken

The single word and no other as though the bird were wrapped, so in its accord

That it could not separate this peculiar purpose and no other postulate

Then in quiet, I spoke “You are not the first, other fowl have flown before

On the sunrise you will leave me as my guilt, from here has flown before

Without this answer I keep remorseless.”

Down the owl looked to me to profess “Whoo”

Startled I retreated frightened by this break of silence, this reply heralded

This word, this single question asked “tis the beasts only breadth,” said I

"Tis its master, Tis its only sinful never ceasing master of merciless suffering

In prisoned by the singing of this lone song of this one burden bore

That it doth carry soullessly, this unholy, this one burden bore

Of this ungodly question, Whoo.”

Still the Owl sat counting the secrets of my guilt, inside me coiling

Upon a ground of leaves and soil, I sat below this owl who above me toil

Upon the decaying vegetation I began in piecing together, what this ominous fowl

Was linking in evil to evil, sin to sin, in this constant barrage of unceasing

Menace, this merciless persecution, in this constant barrage of unceasing

Asking in croaking “Whoo”

There I sat engaging in guessing, but not in one syllable expressing

Of what this fowl was questioning, with eyes foreboding and, in my soul, reaching

This fowl contorting innocence, in cunning trial, to pass unheeded sentence

This and more I sat deciphering, my head solemnly resting

On palms marred with deeds unspoken, that moonlight shine over

Whose creased linings conceal misgivings, that in moonlight shinning over

Shall not be touched by the question of this imperiling Owl

In proclaiming “Whoo”

There I felt the air growing dense, as if burned with some unseen incense

Lighted by witches, whose footfalls float forth from darkened earth’s soil

“Witch” I cried “Thy God hath cast thee- by these angels he has scorn thee

Break thee, break thee, and resolve thee from thy memories of, Alyssa

Forget, this kind and deathly wounded, this lost and vanquished, Alyssa.”

Questioned the owl “Whoo”

“Prophet!” said I “Demonic fowl- prophet still, if thy be bird or devil!

Whether temptation be sent or whether temptress has thrown thee in thy tree

Desolate yet all surrounded, amid this forest, this woodland enchanted

On this horror under leaves aloft, be haunted- tell me true I implore

Is there salvation for me from this I have not spoken, tell me I implore!”

Questioned the Owl “Whoo”

“Prophet!” said I “Demonic fowl- prophet still, if thy be bird or devil!

By the dark foreboding skies above us- by thy God thou hast forsaken

Tell this accused, this soul burdened by sorrow of deeds, if guilt resides me

From Eden’s peace or if denial shall save from whom the angels name Alyssa

This flower plucked, this lost, and perished petal of whom the angels name Alyssa”

Questioned the Owl “Whoo”

“Be thy answer our way of parting, bird or fiend” I proclaimed, then bellowing

“Get thee back in thy temptress bosom and be gone back to thy falling barn!

Leave no wretched white plume of the questioned lie thy hath spoken!

Leave hidden deeds, unprosecuted and forgotten, from this lie thy hath spoken!"

Questioned the Owl “Whoo”

And the Owl, never moving, still perching, still waiting

On the Maple branch stretching solidly above in the darkened night

And its tilted head having all the knowledge of the devils knowing

And moonlight streaming through leaves casting shadows in reckoning

And my body strewn on ground, now shall never rise from its present lying

Paralyzed with sweet poison from unseen incense burning

Forever still in the midst of this unseen incense burning,

Never to answer this question “Whoo”