Magpie Blessing

In anxious reverie, I sit and await

Pronouncements from on high that will settle my fate

When suddenly my attention lands

On a blur of monochrome which, with sleight of hand

Conjures up, from the very top of the tree,

Words that trap me;

My hopes for today, my dreams of tomorrow

Muffled, now, by echoing chatter…

One for sorrow.

Beating wildly then suddenly stilled,

My heart plummets fast;

Is this the cue to sing my last?

A swan song of defeat,

A bitter finale,

Tethering me to the inevitable finally?

A thud as my flight of fancy hits the ground,

Not a sound;

Just the stillness and sickness of overwhelming dread.

Hope is dead!

And yet are not two sparrows, though their worth is small,

Known and loved by the creator of all?

And if this is so, as my faith would dictate

Then what of this bird with feathers of purple-blue agate?

Could striking beauty, a jewel of the earth

Bestow curses with such chattering mirth?

Beauty holds no proof of truth, I know

For the Bible tells me so.

But here and now, God speaks to my heart

There is no cursing in this art.

For curses exist not in feathers of coal

But in superstition and lore whose primary role

Seeks to explain the harshness of life

To rationalise trouble and justify strife.

And sometimes, because we seek meaning with human eyes

What is actually blessing seems to comprise

A curse.

And so this verse, imperfect but true,

Says when that is so

Hold on to hope and don’t let go.

There will be a way, no matter how dark

It seems. There will be some spark

Which lights a fire to guide the way

And you will soar through the night to the breaking of day.

Remember the time that darkness prevailed

Curses seemed victorious

And goodness failed.

Defeat and desolation held their sway

Until the third day.