Just re-blogging this poem I wrote as a teenager for the Verily Victoria Vocalises linky Prose for Thought.
Birds of Prey
We drop from the sky and we come in for the kill
we never lose that feeling
the adrenaline, the thrill
the sound of the echoing death cry,
the mixture of the mortal
and immortal so appealing
Our meaning in life, our purpose, our love,
is not for one another but for our prey
we have the power
and we never need suffer
we haunt by night and we shimmer by day
There isn’t a moment
we don’t feel the wind,
the rain and the moon,
rarely seen through the clouds,
is our brother, unearthly, immortal kin
shining through at last
like a final shroud.
Perhaps this is how it feels to be falling, slowly, deliciously, towards the rocks,
chilling, the speed at which everything changes,
a feeling closer to madness than shock,
omitting the thought that this should be appalling,
like a book omitting its final pages.
Yet we have the power of self preservation, gliding and stalling in frantic turns,
swooping and spiralling with such grace
and we have so little left to learn that our movements will seem like a practiced formation
our fatal blow, a majestic embrace.