Ode to Seagulls
This mad man has had enough!
They saved my life, the gulls did. I mean, I was staring balky into to the mirror. Or was it a window? I forget. Either way, the memory is fogged. My feet were trembling on the stools back, 'bout to take a step and allow the string tied around my neck to do its deed. Don’t cry for me, I'm here to write this aren't I? Well, to circumcise this long tale I took that step, but the moment I did I heard the screams of a flock’s flock of seagulls so loud it shattered the string freeing my neck and my mind.
Ever since then I’ve spent every penny of my life and every inkling of my will servicing and searching for these Majestic creatures. I have endured ridicule and imprisonment for "pollution and littering" when I merely attempted to seed the Barren Seaside with seagull sustenance.
And to think they call it "trash"... It all speaks volumes to what humans will throw away and what these wonderful avians will remake into fuel for their valiant crusade.
Just as the sand mirrors the constellations that shine above it, these harbingers of chaos are the perfect weighty tip of the scale, a counterbalance for all of us humans.
We strive for futile order, our desperate disposition to relish in futility and attempt to grasp the greasy tale of time as it tugs itself down the ouroboro’s throat.
The sand of time is falling swiftly under us, just as sand is under the sky. We swirl towards the hour glass’s event horizon. And just as the hourglass will eventually shatter when the seagulls knock it over with wind of their wings, we too will shatter.
The seagulls exist with bottomless generosity, every cry of their call a tearful reminder of a meaning alien to my primitive words' playground’s abilities of comprehension. They speak in tongues too grand for us to behold. We only hear mangled, twisted shadows of their song
We humans, much like the worms that that will devour us in our graves, never having read these meals’ epitaph, are blissfully unaware of the twist in our timeline to come.
And just like "just like" weaves the web of connections of this ode, the seagulls weave a web of deceit in the form of their tapping webbed feet. They play the role of the rainfall's call that beckons the worms to the surface. Seagulls are of the trickiest of the tricksters and the worm will face the honor sliding down the trickster’s greatest tool, the talemaker, it's slippery silver tongue.
They have the Gusto to grab our food, which we make up of chemicals we suck from the earth like vampires The Seagulls know we don't deserve nutrients.
Their call echoes in my mind foreshadowing a time when humans will no longer rule with our petty "rules".
What is hidden Beyond, in-between, and behind their beak, is beyond me. A puzzle-lock I can't solve. As that my egg noodle is born pre-sizzled in the sun. If I could pick their brain I’d let them peck mine.
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