The starling of the east
The prey to the wind
The wood in which we rest
Calls out to me in sounds I can not comprehend
The mysterious little bird continues to call to its own
The hopeless balloon entangled upon wires of doubt
The faces stream by in melancholy, mundane procession
And I, the spectator, watch in awe
The monotonous register clinks of coins
The passerby smiles with tainted breath
We move along with the caffeine
We remain unaware of the lurking fiend
The starling departs its clumsy perch
The laboring server turns the lights down and locks the door
And I await the next stream of life to pass me by
All the while the black knight perfects his schemes
He twists the minds of his prey with a stable train of thought
But this train spews the black smoke of deception and yet charity driven will
Only in a flash, the Holy Ghost intercepts the mind
He trains my mind for truth
And my train clinks along the rocky track
No longer blackened but with the window of a lucid, blue canopy
Hovering o'er me
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