General Fiction posted April 11, 2016 | Chapters: | ...40 41 -42- 43... |
The legend of the Owl
A chapter in the book Prosetry
Old Owl
by jusylee72
A Legend Contest Winner
No one knows when I was created
This wide eyed wonder of the world
But many say it was the first time
A man asked why
Why do we exist?
Who made us?
Why do we suffer?
Who we are?
I sit on a tree branch and listen to the elders of the tribe speak
One Indian likes to tell the tale
Over and over to his grand children
They listen by the fire
as he weaves the tale of Old Owl
The bird who is silent during the day
The bird who questions everything at night
The bird who is both intelligent and evil
I am a quick warrior
Few are faster than me when I seek my nourishment
Few were given the gift of sight in the dark
I can fly over fields in the dead of night
And still see the smallest rodent
Believing he is safe and happy
But I have to eat
So I swoop and extend my claws
And at that moment I have no fear
Or regret
I have to be both beautiful and powerful
I have to protect and feed my young
The story goes that I was once only a small bird
Who no other birds feared
And my children starved in the forest
And my nest was not warm
But the wind of the gods saw my wisdom
And changed me
They gave me huge eyes that could see in the darkness
They gave me claws to pick up my prey
They gave me the strength of ten birds
To carry it away
I killed mercifully
And swiftly
I thanked the earth and the gods for feeding me and my children
The Indian told them of my voice
How I would say “Who”
And question the night
And all the older Indians
Both loved and feared me
I was an omen of death
I was given one sadness
If I was to gain my powers I was no longer allowed to see the sun
My eyes so sensitive at night
Would be blinded by the day
I had to give up the flowers that bloom in sunshine
I couldn’t view the colors of the earth
The sparkles on the lake when the sun dances
The dark holds no colors
The Indian said, “All wise men have to accept what they are given.”
Modern men don’t venture outside
They tuck themselves in their dwellings
They listen to false day on their picture machines
But if they were to walk in the wilderness
On a full moon night
They would hear me calling
asking who they are.
No one knows when I was created
This wide eyed wonder of the world
But many say it was the first time
A man asked why
Why do we exist?
Who made us?
Why do we suffer?
Who we are?
I sit on a tree branch and listen to the elders of the tribe speak
One Indian likes to tell the tale
Over and over to his grand children
They listen by the fire
as he weaves the tale of Old Owl
The bird who is silent during the day
The bird who questions everything at night
The bird who is both intelligent and evil
I am a quick warrior
Few are faster than me when I seek my nourishment
Few were given the gift of sight in the dark
I can fly over fields in the dead of night
And still see the smallest rodent
Believing he is safe and happy
But I have to eat
So I swoop and extend my claws
And at that moment I have no fear
Or regret
I have to be both beautiful and powerful
I have to protect and feed my young
The story goes that I was once only a small bird
Who no other birds feared
And my children starved in the forest
And my nest was not warm
But the wind of the gods saw my wisdom
And changed me
They gave me huge eyes that could see in the darkness
They gave me claws to pick up my prey
They gave me the strength of ten birds
To carry it away
I killed mercifully
And swiftly
I thanked the earth and the gods for feeding me and my children
The Indian told them of my voice
How I would say “Who”
And question the night
And all the older Indians
Both loved and feared me
I was an omen of death
I was given one sadness
If I was to gain my powers I was no longer allowed to see the sun
My eyes so sensitive at night
Would be blinded by the day
I had to give up the flowers that bloom in sunshine
I couldn’t view the colors of the earth
The sparkles on the lake when the sun dances
The dark holds no colors
The Indian said, “All wise men have to accept what they are given.”
Modern men don’t venture outside
They tuck themselves in their dwellings
They listen to false day on their picture machines
But if they were to walk in the wilderness
On a full moon night
They would hear me calling
asking who they are.
This wide eyed wonder of the world
But many say it was the first time
A man asked why
Why do we exist?
Who made us?
Why do we suffer?
Who we are?
I sit on a tree branch and listen to the elders of the tribe speak
One Indian likes to tell the tale
Over and over to his grand children
They listen by the fire
as he weaves the tale of Old Owl
The bird who is silent during the day
The bird who questions everything at night
The bird who is both intelligent and evil
I am a quick warrior
Few are faster than me when I seek my nourishment
Few were given the gift of sight in the dark
I can fly over fields in the dead of night
And still see the smallest rodent
Believing he is safe and happy
But I have to eat
So I swoop and extend my claws
And at that moment I have no fear
Or regret
I have to be both beautiful and powerful
I have to protect and feed my young
The story goes that I was once only a small bird
Who no other birds feared
And my children starved in the forest
And my nest was not warm
But the wind of the gods saw my wisdom
And changed me
They gave me huge eyes that could see in the darkness
They gave me claws to pick up my prey
They gave me the strength of ten birds
To carry it away
I killed mercifully
And swiftly
I thanked the earth and the gods for feeding me and my children
The Indian told them of my voice
How I would say “Who”
And question the night
And all the older Indians
Both loved and feared me
I was an omen of death
I was given one sadness
If I was to gain my powers I was no longer allowed to see the sun
My eyes so sensitive at night
Would be blinded by the day
I had to give up the flowers that bloom in sunshine
I couldn’t view the colors of the earth
The sparkles on the lake when the sun dances
The dark holds no colors
The Indian said, “All wise men have to accept what they are given.”
Modern men don’t venture outside
They tuck themselves in their dwellings
They listen to false day on their picture machines
But if they were to walk in the wilderness
On a full moon night
They would hear me calling
asking who they are.
Writing Prompt Take any animals real or mythical and turn it into a legend! You can enlarge, give it some special powers, or create a legend based on it! You can do anything you want with your animals, but make it legendary. Try not to use cats, dogs, or goldfish. Try a leopard, panda, or panther instead. You may include a picture. Reserve now. Limited spots open. |
A Legend Contest Winner |
Recognized |
Artwork by dodgement at FanArtReview.com
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