Black Peacock: Once as beautiful as the rose in its hand... the angel turns black as night... full of pain and anguish... from the loss...

Like the weeping willow, I sleep,
In a lion cage from the wild,
Lying in perpetual light, I hate the morning,
I hold a gun trapped inside my head.
The moon is full, a chance for redemption,
Hey, wolf-moon, cast your spell on me,
Every day is Halloween, shall we trick or treat?
I can't go out, my roots are showing
I smell of burning leaves, there's a fresh Autumn breeze.
A crimson pool, so warm and deep,
It lulls me to an endless sleep,
This endless life - this, the end of life?
I awake, frigid statue standing icy - blue and numb,
Cold winter winds, they chill my heart with sleet and snow,
Then comes Spring, the light, it strains my eyes,
The sun is yours, in Summer I lie in bed,
I smell of burning leaves, a dark falling star.
A swollen sun, it melts in the horizon,
The light dies, with this do I live,
Now the Eastern sky, it hints of dawning,
Sleep, now, peacock with the black feathers.


This poem came to me in a dream four years ago. It was one of the first poems I ever wrote; and the first dream I tuned into poetry. It has been publicated by The National Library of Poetry in their annual anthology of poetry for 1997. It is one of my most personal poems, as it tells much about what is inside my heart... the other side of my heart... the dark side of the heart of the angel...

This poem has many symbols and should not be taken literally throughout. Like the weeping willow, I sleep (I cry myself to sleep)... In a lion cage from the wild (I have been taken from my home envionment and cast into the shadows, apart from life, freedom)... Lying in perpetual light, I hate the morning (I live forever with this pain, disturbed eternally that it still comes: life)... I hold a gun trapped inside my head (the gun is a symbol of potential power... I have this knowledge, but fail to share it with those who deserve)...

The poem continues with symbols, found in each line of the poem. The black peacock is like the love of the legacy... it is born with beauty... yet, cursed now with black, lifeless feathers as it dies... as its heart bleeds... as the heart dies...


This heart shall bleed...