This Bird

This bird flies;
It hovers;
It swoops;
It tears little pieces
Of flesh from my
Face.
It knows me,
This bird,
This conscience,
This little pain in
My soul.
I am subject
And servant,
Lover and
Master to this
Bird.
We are together
And apart—
One, yet two.
We die together
Daily.
We are eternity
And an end—
Time and forever.
We are to each other
One another—
This bird and me.

4/95

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About ~Drew

I am a survivor of childhood torture. Each day, I put one foot in front of the other, moving forward. To do any less would spell my own destruction. My music/poetry/prose deal with the devastating effect of this kind of abuse on a human being: me. My experiences/thoughts/ideas/misconceptions are exposed here for all to see. Here. I am lain bare, naked, hidden only be the cloak of anonymity.
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