6 March 2013
The stately bird, he cocked his head And fixed me with a gaze of lead Polished, metal, yet toxic like Less like a sparrow, more like a Shrike
He watched me through my grimy glass Watched me, watched the hours pass And never did he twitch or stir That eerie, staring, tiny bird
His steady gaze unsettled me And very soon I did see A splash of crimson on his beak Stained so dark with colour bleak
I watched him from my sleeping room The garden beyond draped in gloom Of evening ease and dolce dew Of night to come and sunlight slew
Flutter did that little bird 'Oi!' and as if he had heard He stumbled, flummoxed by the cry And locked me in his coal-black eye
Still I mused the stain of red Sitting on my bedroom bed And noticed I with fast disgust Twas blood that slicked that small bird's bust
Vexed by my pointless call The bird took off, again, once more And fluttered to the garden rose And there, he stopped, and turned, and posed
And as I stared at the prickled plant I saw what I wish you shan't Parts of people stuck on spikes Placed by this demonic Shrike
Ears, fingers, eyes and noses Speared on the thorns of roses A buffet for this Devil's Slave Who's sent so many to their grave
In a flash of wings and jet-black feather Came the Soldier of the Nether Back up to my window ledge From the thorny, gruesome hedge
I placed together every peace And realised my cruel release That I was a part of this feast To feed old Pluto's airborne beast
As the bird began to tap And use its beak to stab and rap The glass, I felt a rising dread As to Death my soul was wed
He broke quick into my home In he came, flushed from the gloam Taking with the gourmet part My ears, eyes, yet not my heart
Never again have I heard Or seen, or smelt, the Butcher Bird And still I lie in my blood-soaked bed Waiting 'till I might be dead.
Butcher Bird • Opuss № I