The Blackbird Lands

the blackbird lands—
inside the empty room was where the men
dreamt many futures,
planned many things,
died, never having sung,
knowing only jeopardy

the blackbird sings—
it trills, quips,
spins the deep silence of the forest
into happy madness,
then dives, hops, ferrets for fun
through its own endless histories

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!


Gabriel Muoio



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