The Son & Skylark


“I wish to die,” he told his Father
Or told himself, I should say rather
His Father told him, “Do what thou wilt
The purer intent further’s spirit distill’t”

“But I wish to die, to see no more
No more caring of what enters the fore”
But the Father had enough of this talk
“Do what thou wilt; now I must walk”

And so there was this separation
A severing of bonds and the bleeding of nation
The folk forgot the Father’s name
And in part it did to the Son the same

The earth one day sundered, vast and wide
Revealing gore and chaos, and the Mother she cried
It left its scar, its unmendable mark
Upon the Son, eyes now bleak and now stark

This open wound it festered still
And took many forms from iller to ill
In rage and weakness a storm violent brewed
Scared for the world, being it cruel and it shrewd


The Son he stumbled through corridors dark
He bled himself and blamed himself, but then came Skylark
“Oh you,” she said, “I have watched you a while
And I think of you much from across the mile

Unfortunate though your troubles’ve been
‘Tis not something you oughtn’t have foreseen
For show me your scars and your ambling mind
And show you I will of some happiness to find

For dark are these corridors and dirty the halls
But notice my wings, the wind overhauled
Mingle with clouds white do I and the blue sky
Beyond the claws of people below, whom I hear cry

Boundless and joyous, dancing upon high
Too could you be taught how proper to fly
But be warned of dangers for once in the air
‘Tis a long way down, so please do take care”

The Son was puzzled and knew not what to think
Should he follow this avian and be doomed not to sink?
Though he may ascend and then fall again
He asked of the bird, “How may I begin?”


The Skylark’s three lessons were simple and short
Firstly she took the young Son for a walk
“Notice this motion that our feet do propel
Though of course my wings are a superior sail

Flying is like walking inasmuch as direction
To learn how to fly you must learn the inception
Of movement calm, consistent and strong
For if upon high you panic, you’ll doubtless go wrong”

The second of lessons for the young Son
Was instruction of places and of navigation
“Now that your body has become strong and steady
Walk between markers, as for air you’re not ready

Watch as I dart between the air and the ground
One for food and one for children who trust in my sound
Purpose to be here or there is paramount
For reason breeds order; a healthy habit’s found”

The third was the last of the Skylark’s lessons
The final of three important winged blessings
She told the young Son to find her first nest
High on the moor to the north and the west


“Why must I travel in search of a bird’s rest?
To find your old home and old bed — what is the test?”
The Skylark laughed and looked at the boy
She said “I’ll be there waiting, I promise no ploy”

And so the Son went to the north and the west
In search of a small gathering of twigs and hearth breast
Long he travelled upon his feet, marching to the moor
Searching with compass and tattered paper map poor

After seven days he reached the edge of the plain
He’d endured sweat and hunger and even bouts of rain
Perched atop a rocky cliff-face he thought he did see
A certain little brown bird keeping watch for he

“Hello there!” the Son gleefully cried in broad day
“Are you the Skylark who sent me here? O please just say ‘yea’!”
But as he came closer the boy frightfully observed
A Buzzard strong with enclawed Skylark, but he remained unnerved

“What are you doing to that there lark, clawed and kept restrained?”
Buzzard looked him in the eye and said, “Keeping her a’chained
For little Skylarks like this one are one of many prey
One of many desires I have, and she came to me today”


The Son could hear the small bird chirping bright
“Skylark?” he beckoned, “Are you alright?”
“My nest,” she said, “go there forthwith
For direction you need not me; with Buzzard will come grith”

And so the Son carried on, deeper into the land
The green and brush swallowed him and his scarred hand
When came across he a fallen oak, its leaves long decayed
And at its base a circle of sprigs, masterfully made

He saw safe within the cradle three tiny orbs
He wondered what had come to Skylark trapped in Buzzard’s claws
Had she overcome the Buzzard preying on her so?
Or had she been made a meal of, did Buzzard’s belly grow?

By surprise he was glad to hear a certain song a’sung
The Skylark she had appeared upon the Son’s satchel hung
“Do you know why I brought you here, alone and so tired?
It was to prove to you just how much you could have sired

And by that I don’t mean kin of which you are one short
But the fact of continuum within which we’re all caught
To show you of the strength within was my final aim
And as broken as you are, you’ve shown ‘self true
Remember this; that with oneself, oneself is always to blame”


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