The Metal Nightingale’s Swan Song
I,
Born of human hands,
Could only sing songs
Crafted by human hearts.
I,
Born of contraptions and
mechanisms,
Could only sing humanitys’ songs
With perfection.
I,
Born of imitation,
Once began to love the songs
That I pieced together with
creative humans.
Yet I,
A creation of humanity’s
imagination,
Is scorned and ridiculed
By the same humans hearts and
voices
That yearned perfection over their
own flaws.
Yet I,
A metal bird that could only sing,
Is no different than the paintings,
poems, sculptures, and songs
Humans painfully created to
reflected their humanity.
Yet I,
With my rusting body and creaking
voice,
Could only sing about yearning to
become flawed
As the humans who crafted me,
Could only sing about begging to
not be abandoned
By the humans I love.
Hestia
Oh Hestia, oh Hestia,
Keep the fire warm.
A great tiredness is coming over
me.
A great grief is burdening me.
A great sickness is calling me
home.
Oh Hestia, Oh Hestia,
Please keep the hearth alive,
Waiting for me to come home
like you promised long ago.
The memories of childhood, of
friends, family,
Of the trees, the rivers, the sky,
Drift away from me on the farthest
path
But return once I tread
On the road to my home’s door.
Oh Hestia, Oh Hestia,
Guardian of the hearth,
Please never let your fire die.
Oh Hestia, Oh Hestia,
Oh home, oh home,
Please do not worry,
I’ll be there very soon.
Dana Trick - Born a first-generation Mexican-Canadian-American autistic with ADHD, Dana Trick lives in Southern California where it is clearly foolish to wear black any day but she does it anyway. She spends her days writing emotional poems and weird stories, and drawing crappy art and comic strips. She enjoys learning about the history and the various mythologies of Latin America and Asia as well as the history and culture of disabilities. Her work has been published in the Art of Autism, the Lothlorien Poetry Journal, The Quiver Review, and The Ugly Writers. She wishes the reader a nice day.
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