The Washout's Tale

My eyes fluttered open at 1:43 in the morning

To the sound of wings falling to the ground.

They flittered about, much like my waking eyes,

And resembling a heartbeat thumping in rhythm.

I heard it crying out in agony to the midnight sky,

Begging for help, begging for its wings to be repaired.

When I could hear its feeble life force giving out,

That cadency dropped in time signature, crying

Out slowly and more faintly. I felt my stomach turn

As I finally heard the owl who had brought that

Bird down to its fate, joyously squawking in delight!

Harrowing through the guts and creating a horror

For everything else awake to tremble and fear.

To know that I am safe in my home, only subjected

To listen to its normal and natural brutality;

Does not satisfy the empathetic heart that beats within.

To not save the bird, that was only meant to

Be a meal in this lifetime, breaks and pummels

My heart into pieces. But to take a meal away

From a creature who yearns to feast, suppresses

My heart just as badly. And this is how I know

That I am a washout; because I wince and

Shudder at the idea of my enemies tripping

And falling down. That I cannot even dream

Of pedophiles and rapists acquiring the karma

That they so very well deserve. That I wish for

Love for every single creature who breathes and lives.