The Bird and the Beam

Part one

An endless drop he has been falling for an eternity,
Devoted to a deviant, it pushes him from his nest.
Yet he returns. Many a time. Oh so many times.
It has tended to his vulnerabilities, it will help him back into his nest.
It will bring him back to his nest.
It will bring him back to his nest.
It tells him it will bring him back to his nest.
He believes it.
Pulling him up only so he may fall further and it can feel powerful.
And every time he returns to it, he falls closer to the ground.
He is almost at the end of his voyage.

Emerging from the deep expanse, a beam of hope,
She shines her radiance at the depths for him to see.
Oh how much deeper he has to fall.
She has been there.
She admires his ignorance. Pities his stark vulnerability.
Befriending a bird without a wing.
He warns the beam, ‘I can not fly’,
‘Let me fall’ he commands
But she won’t.
She will not let him fall.

She has a nature unlike any other,
An essence of enchantment in her aura,
How she values his broken wing.
How she values his crooked beak.
Like a butterfly on a winters day,
She is a flash of colour in a monochromatic domain.

Dragged from the depths,
He is hideous. Cant she see?
‘I assure you my wing is broken’, but she shakes her head.
Irreparable, he knows that she is making a mistake taking him with her.
Oh how strong the beam is.
How strong.
Is she strong?
The beam will inevitably fade, she can not carry them both.
And he is oh so heavy.
So clumsy.
So useless.
His wing will never be repaired.
He doesn’t want to be better, he wants to wallow in his sadness.

Part two

Assuring me of a beauty I can not see, I relish in our sunlight,
Doubting her own, I relish in our rain,
There is no more bird. No more beam.
It is the bird and the beam.
She nurtures me and sits with me in my nest.
A momentary respite from pain.

Where has it gone?
The ever-present ache?
Dependency.
Vulnerability.
I have been here before.
If my wing breaks I am sure to fall forever.
I can not leave my nest again.
What if she pushes me?
She is going to push me.
In anticipation I jump.

The sunlight burns,
I stray from the beam,
My own rain clatters me, I no longer share my weight with her,
Unresponsive. Alone. I sit in the rain.
Begging to be let in I close my window.
She shines through the glass regardless.
She would do anything for that desecrated disagreeable bird.
Inadequate. Underserving. He panics.

Part three

The light is blinding,
The light is a reminder that he can not give in,
The light is a reminder that he can not break his other wing,
The light is a reminder of a value that he can not find in himself,
But he wants to give in. He has come to the end of his journey,
And he was not meant to bring a companion, yet here they are.
The bird and the beam

The flowers have grown around his talons,
The most beautiful of snares,
HE TEARS AND HE RIPS AND HE WRENCHES AND HE CUTS AND HE SLASHES!
And the beam fades.
Unresponsive. Alone.
Is this not what he wanted?
There is no more sunlight in his window.
He has pushed her out of his nest.
There is blood on his walls.
The beams blood.
He has shattered the ever so precious,
Ever so valuable,
Light of his life.
He is in the dark again.
At least he gets to break his other wing.

He is unrecognisable,
‘Your wing is broken’, points out the beam,
‘You were not like this before’, she continues.
She is better.
She can finally see.

Betrayed. She had bared her scars.
She had given him everything.
And he tore up her flower bed,
Knowing her flower bed had been torn up before.
Perhaps she will not bother to grow anymore flower beds.
The beam had been so much deeper than the bird could fathom,
But she always let him believe he was the deepest.
The beam and the bird.