Two Birds Call

things could have been different
but we wonder where on God’s map
we are—being dragged to hell by our
iniquities, the babbler calls a thousand
different songs—it is known to mimic
other birds (we are drawn to vibrate like
a tuning fork the frequencies around us),
it sings an endless, changing melody
until only time is recused and its sound
is folded inward like an envelope—
we will remember when we danced to it,
how we fretted at salvation. there was
another bird babbling—at night undaunted,
speaking secrets—we thought we soliloquised
and took credit for our triumphs, always
moving on the waters it saw both sea and
space, the deepness of our souls, our
minds, the final victory was quiet,
won at great cost, we looked back and
saw the road to Calvary wondering what
man was this that willingly bore his cross,
the wood for holocaust, saw hell, place
of faces, rooms and multitudes of them
rendering their exotic kinds of horror
at what they’d done—“Count me among
them, Lord,” because gorged on heaven’s
manna we want meat, but behold it would
be our ruin, Christ persisted in his grace
knowing what error wayward children speak,
we should instead say, scream—“My iniquity
is endless, your blood, my Lord is perfect
and sufficient,”—as Adam sinned so do we,
this cancer in us exists because of Satan,
we breathe his noxious air by virtue of our
living, we are not fish that swim, nor birds
that fly and look below—we are parroters of
holy things, we choose our sides—“get behind
me Satan, this ladder is too narrow for two
abreast, too tenuous for beasts, for hooves.”
dumbly I speak; blindly I see; inert, each step
assisted by my brother Christ I run the
race before me, forgetting what lies behind.

Thanks for checking out my poem.

Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can read it here for free, or get it for your e-reader on iBooks, Amazon or Kobo. Or you can just say you read the book, and donate five bucks down below. Go on.

Gabriel Muoio


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