Sheikha A. writes

A moment of consequence 

when would the day become brave? 

when secrets no longer carry non-expiration dates?

when words become sour but reek putrid of honesty 

and the tongues in us with courage find parity?

when will the lilacs finally reveal their scent 

like a bird at night that tires from a day of pretend?

when will the owl open its eyes to the stark day 

and the raven find a yellow dawn at indigo starlit bays?

when the tides have retired, will they never again bask?

nowhere is where the way falls by fire-steeled tracks.

when will the bells sound by the man on the moon

and on a plank of sharks, I can with blood festoon?

  Owl and Crow -- Caitlin Hackett