Magpie On My Windowsill

 And who art thou? Pray tell,

I ask the magpie descending on my windowsill,

Perhaps hoping to find a friend in him,

And strange to tell but I heard him answer,

His voice cutting through eerie monotone,

"A bird, but today a projection of your own soul."

Deeply disturbed yet eager to talk,

Why is it my soul chose a bird?

Again answer came in a croaking voice,

"For you wish to be me, wish to fly!"

I pondered this while he drawled on,

"Stuck inside your walls of worry, all day long you wish to leave"

T'was the light or perhaps imagination,

I made out a single tear roll down his cheek.

Is it possible, to be you?

Fly away where eyes can reach!

Is it possible, to be you?

Leave behind all my worry!

I shout out, almost manic.

Scared, startled, stunned,

In a tremor of wings and fluttering feathers,

Off it went, launching onto infinite,

Left in its wake, a broken man.

The windowsill, silent and still, subsides to empty.