Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
From within the Plaza, sitting along the café’s chairs, Lena’s faith didn’t shatter. It didn’t rumble, it didn’t ruin. It quietly stoked over the fibers of her heart, where the organ pressed and fluttered, nervous and anxious as she peered above garden walls and wondrous heights. Another moon, amidst all the chaos and warnings, as if something had come to invade again and again, a repeated reverberation of war refrains and drums. She remembered collapsing towers and the sounds of screams, the silence of her sister’s existence; multitudes of lives snuffed out.
And perhaps this wasn’t it. Maybe they were safe. Maybe they were high or low enough to not be a bother.
But still, she swallowed down a whole trace of things, called it dread, and began to walk towards the Tower.
And perhaps this wasn’t it. Maybe they were safe. Maybe they were high or low enough to not be a bother.
But still, she swallowed down a whole trace of things, called it dread, and began to walk towards the Tower.
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
