The Cuckoo Clock (by Christine Biles)
What can be believed?
How do you know the face of the cuckoo clock tells the truth?
Just because that wooden bird comes out in all its stiff glory, flapping,
sometimes to bells that toll like a poem by Edgar Allen Poe,
or to the cries that only a boneless bird could possibly bellow,
it doesn’t mean that esteemed fowl can be believed.
It may seem confident, but in reality there is only ever air beneath its feet,
the ground is far below, and a life without any sort of solidity poisons
perspective, instills lies within the mind of the poor soul who believes he can
fly on forever. Time to come down now.
Believe in gravity, trust the ground will stop any fall, when you feel the need,
become the grass and the soil until you can accept yourself once again,
until you can trust the cuckoo in its lonely, empty house – the bird whose heart
ticks solely to tell you that time is forever passing you by.