Nightingale

In this open hollow
I see eyes that have felt pain
Penetrable to the deepest sorrow
And I'm driving near insane

Children with empty crevices
Where hearts should pump strong
Scarred from the distresses
Lives cut short that should be long

A resting voice, softness sure
Mother I am calling
Never seen a will so pure
And there she screams, falling

Angels of ruthless tragedy
Crying, you don't see me at all
Here I am, but you don't see me
You don't hear me, though I call

I wondered what deepens inside
The wings of a fallen angel
Crashed to the shore, a reckless tide
But even that they stole

Salt streaming from my black iris
The devil comes alive
Crafting mischief in his fiery abyss
An empty future yet to contrive

And in the shadows deep within
A nightingale begins to sing
Softly at first, then with intention
Dawn sweeping away the lightning

[For hope is the bird who sings
When all other birds lay to rest
He begins the motion of new things
The building of a better nest]

Another poem written during my writer\'s block...