Deep below the rich earth lays a reddish-brown bird. Every now and then, I hear the reddish-brown bird sing at night; songs of solitude and beauty resonate in the cadence of passing time. I try to ignore the songs, but they take root in my memory like words to a contract, as unspoken bonds of servitude, like blood and bones, are to the rich brown earth.
Deep below the rich earth lays a reddish-brown bird. Every now and then, I wonder how to capture its winged spirit. Whose spirit abides witness to all, to every child, to every woman, and every man inside us, as Seraphim of memory; time spent or mislaid. The reddish-brown winged spirit was there with Perseus, Cadmus, and Bellerophon to foresee the courage to thrive, to persist, or all art would be but lost.
Deep below the rich earth lays a reddish-brown bird. Every now and then, I go out looking for the reddish-brown bird. Sometimes, I visualize where the reddish-brown bird might hide, and try to capture its likeness in toil. I wonder if the reddish-brown bird were free of the earth would the world be different in the collective memory it holds of you and me. Oh, Perseus, Cadmus, and Bellerophon look towards the horizon, and there Athena waits below the line that separates the sun from the earth.
Deep below the rich earth lays a reddish-brown bird. Every now and then, I hear the reddish-brown bird sing at night; songs of solitude and beauty resonate in the cadence of passing time. I try to ignore the songs, but they take root in my memory like words to a contract, as unspoken bonds of servitude, like blood and bones, are to the rich brown earth. Oh, Athena, let the reddish-brown bird fly away. Fly away my muse, fly away, while Arachne weaves a web to catch the things we have and the things we lose, only find them once again, deep below the rich earth.
All Rights Reserved, Deep Below the Rich Earth © Richard Anthony Peña 2017