The Silent Swan Song

Image: Gemini AI-generated

I have tasted life on the tip of my tongue, and it is bitter sweet.

I have been forced to eat my own words without even so much as a silver platter.

I've had a Muted Swan shoved so far down my throat, that it has become a prisoner betweenst my ribcage.

It's feathers make me regurgitate my own words, if I dare speak.

But I pry one of those feathers from my gaggled throat and pen my words silently.

After all, isn't that what the Muted Swan S shaped neck stands for - Silence.

I presume for now, the poor caged, elderly Muted Swan is merely just waiting on the greatest silencer of all, death.

Whence the Trumpeter Swan will blow its bugle and open Heaven's or Hell's gates.

Yes, death cometh for everybody; for some sooner than later, for others, later than sooner.

All depends on where the hands of time lands,

For death is but a flight we can't escape.

But who am I to speak of such things.

 

© ndpthepoetress Jeane Michelle Culp The Poetress, Mistress to Words Forevermore

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