The Silver Bird

There were others before me,
there would be more to follow.
Souls sent out into the rift
destined to shift or wallow.

I shifted on my first trip.
There on a ship with strangers
drunk with the promise of gold;
bought and sold to the dangers.

Only a few of us knew
what would ensue past the line.
I had heard stories of course;
but their source seemed more the wine.

Now it seems very sober;
fears shared over wine are weak,
without drink they rage inside
amplified by self critique.

As the ship approached the field
some of us kneeled in lament.
Of course, nothing could be seen,
but all gleaned the ripe event.

I watched the first of us go,
with a soft, low clapping sound;
air snapping back into place,
in the space it now had found.

Somewhere else, my friend was lost,
surely a cost justified.
We had no hope or function
past what this junction implied.

I stood there at the threshold;
one amongst the bold souls left
until I too disappeared
Found new fear, the rest bereft.

One moment I was at sea,
the wind around me, whipping;
the next, stagnation. Darkness,
held by harness and sitting.

The light and dark in this place
had a strange pace, throwing fits;
flitting as if in a fight,
no focus to right my wits.

A companion beside me
with arms like a tree, pleaded
strange sounds, pounding my torso,
I don’t know what he needed.

Then there arose such a crash;
a giants bash against the steel
that ripped our carriage in two
pulling others through with zeal.

We screamed, a sound we could share,
while the air ate us with greed,
watching the mountain and sky
pass us by in blinding speed.

A bright yellow thing dropped down,
bouncing around on a string;
While I mirrored its progress,
I could not repress puking.

I awoke being dragged out,
through some strange route to the light
and oppressively cold air
with the few that dared to fight.

And fight we did, night and day
to keep at bay cold and fear;
to eat enough to survive
stay alive though death was near.

A fortnight passed, we drew straws.
We had cause to eat the dead,
but one had to try it first
and be cursed, so it is said.

Months of eating were thus found,
in every pound of our friends,
but no one would ever state
that we all ate in the end.

Like me, this reality
became debris undefined
up until our extraction;
the reaction was maligned.

Though I could not understand
none would remand another,
I may no longer have a home,
But I roam with new brothers.

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