It started out bright Full of light The bold marks of Sunday And refracting sunrays Pouring through the window And through the pond water to the minnows

The trees soaked up the love And kisses from the sun The animals played All throughout the day

Then came winter The curtains tightly closed The season had changed Now I only see snow

Only a blank canvas Of white and dark grey No more spirit Shouting what it has to say

I close the curtains There is no more to see You aren’t there anymore It is just me

I’m sure there were signs Like the leaves turning red But I still followed you Down the long trail of dread

Sometimes I peek outside Seeing if there’s anything left But it’s just a cloud of nothing Not even places we used to rest

Sometimes I hear noises Like flutters and flurries But I block out any hope And continue to mope Because if I believe you’d show up at my door I would sit there and watch, not moving anymore

I let go Tell myself no Push away the curtains And look into the unknown

All is white Snow on the ground Not even a footprint To be found

Then I look deeper And see more than sorrow White is all colors From violet to yellow Red to blue I still love you But I move on And see what’s deeper Than the trails I walked on

White reflects All in my eyes During this harsh winter I will survive Until the dandelions give me signs I will enjoy the bright colors, just outside

I open the door And unlock my heart Hearing sounds once muffled And understand my part

Still today, the sound of the birds can be heard outside my window Even if I can’t see their wings I know they are there, waiting for me I no longer have to be alone I can trudge through the snow Until the sun stops the show And gives the clear signs Of what can be truly mine

Sometimes, sometimes it’s okay to feel black and white like the Willy wagtails.

Sometimes, it’s okay to sing and be free in the treetops like the Australian magpies singing their songs greeting the sunrise.

Sometimes, it’s okay to be different and to go through each colour of the rainbow like the rainbow lorikeets.

Sometimes, it’s okay to be red and blue just like the crimson rosellas being noisy and showing their beautiful colours whilst they sing with nature and greet their friends.

Sometimes, it’s okay to be a little wattlebird, flying around trying to gather feathers, twigs and sticks to make your nest.

Sometimes, being a galah is reassuring, eating seeds and being a nuisance to farmers. It’s okay to be noisy and show your feathers, but being angry won’t get you very far.

And sometimes, it’s okay to be a raven, the need to protect your space and territory is needed. It’s okay to not talk and show you’re not interested in things that don’t gel with your ways or feelings.

Birds are similar to humans, maybe they speak differently to us but that’s because they don’t talk.

And so, still today, the song of the birds can be heard outside the window.

When the nights turn dark And the sun lays its head rest I look for your light But you’ve faded into the void

And the void swallows me whole Like a shark and its prey Tricked by the swaying waters Lost in a sea of lust

You promised me love luminously But only stole what was left of mine And left me a dying flame When to powers go out

So I lay awake in bed Telling the moon my hearts story Because she never screams through my cries She listens with warmth and depth

So still today, The song of the birds Can be heard outside the window Even without you there.

After all the atom bombs, After all the flames, Somehow we’re still here. The willows still weep And the ivy still grows. We’re all still here. Millions of widows, Billions alone. But somehow Still today, the song of the birds can be heard outside the window.

The melody of morning birds, once a joyous serenade, Now echoes a love lost, a heart tattered and frayed. We’d wake tangled in sunlight, your smile the waking dawn, But now, these empty sheets whisper of what has gone.

The world spins on its axis, oblivious to my plight, Bathed in the same sunshine, yet shrouded in endless night. Each chirp a memory, a fluttering of your touch, A bittersweet symphony reminding me of so much.

Though tears may fall like rain, a solace I receive, In their melody I hear you, whispering, “I believe.” I hear your laughter each and every time the soft wind blows, Because still today, the song of the birds can be heard outside the window.

whenever i think about it, it feels like a fever dream hiding somewhere under a willow tree climb the ladder to gaze over the canopy

i remember when i was young, this was my escape still obtains my trinkets, the baby blue colored drapes

a portal to my past, caught up in a limbo still today, the song of birds can be heard outside the window

The birds outside my window sing songs The most beautiful ones to hear But they never decided to last long And soon we were brought back to fear

The songs drowned out the screams If there’s anywhere you will find me It is begging them to come for me in my dreams

As i grew older the birds kept singing Though it became hard to hear My ears never stopped ringing But the birds kept on breathing

A plague came over the earth and poisoned it for its worth The few who lived lived in fear but then they realized what they could hear

No matter the death no matter the pain no matter the struggle Still today, the song of the birds can still be heard outside my window And they soothed those who couldn’t sooth themselves.

The world has both brightened and darkened I hold onto the precious parts that keep me moving the sky seems ready to crash and still today, the song of the birds can be heard outside the window

Do you remember holding each other as the birds sang sweet notes?

Do you miss watching them dance from the window like there was no more tension between you and I?

Could you feel when your touch became cold?

Or when hesitation drove me away? Dragging me by my ankles as I struggled to grab onto anything to keep me from leaving.

Eventually I stopped grasping onto walls or cracks in the floor because I realized, happily ever after was thankfully without you.

But the most beautiful thing to take out of that is still today. The song of the birds can be heard outside the window, without recollection of us.

Do you remember, when you laid next to me Soft cotton on our skin Entangled in one another The sun would begin to peak through the curtains Our lips would greet before we began to speak Do you remember, the sound of morning Still today, the song of the birds can be heard outside the window