The chirping of birds,
the soft fluttering of their wings
I wish for feathers instead of skin
I wish for morning joy,
the lightness and simplicity of being
Even though I’m told
There are feelings I should be feeling
Feelings like sorrow, dread,
and the terror of what lies ahead
But I trust
the sound of my own voice
when it picks and chooses colours
to paint recent memories
I fly above what now seems lost
And some clouds of hell
Now appear heavenly
Spirit of Tara 