It's Still Life

WARNING; MANY WILL FIND THIS VIDEO A HARD ONE TO WATCH.
THE MUSIC IS BEAUTIFUL — TRUTH IS OFTEN NOT.

Broken Wings and Elderflower

The oaks unstitch the night,
sunlight dripping through, honey-thick,
and pooling in my footprints.
It is liquid gold.
And above, the warblers taste
of elderflower,
their notes glinting like tossed pennies.

I kneel into the coolness of moss,
a green hymn older than borders,
while the robin’s tune tastes of rust—
an iron blood and worm-song,
a dying dialect of hedgerows.

My little ones, I whisper,
stitch your truth to the wind.
Let no cage steal the geometry
of your flight, no silence blunt
the sharp sugar of your dawn.

The forest swallows my words,
roots are humming
with underground lullabies.
Somewhere, a last nightingale
paints the dark with amber sound,
while the earth,
grieves with generous,
opened palms:

Here. Here is the sky
that I’ve saved for you.