Written by Regan Chern
My old heart of war,
Lured to the call,
Three sisters with scissors, with duty in their caw
But dawn wakes truths – killer of night’s freedom.
I inherited Nyx’s curses and graces.
My slick-back knife tip claws
Creep forward again
Same click clack against concrete floors,
To meet them – ancient hags.
Bestowed blanket words,
My wishing eyes rot out,
Bury hurt.
My wings as whips,
Flick back at sudden iron-bar walls.
I attempt the box, nipping the lock,
Blocking me from escape – fail, and fail again.
Give in.
Think wisdom in age,
Frustrated, I crawled towards, saw, and waited,
Upon stars to align
Bodies alike on pylon wires –
What of these holy nights remain?
Burnt by all these False Gods,
Realisation: We’re born in cages to kill our wingspan.
My small thoughts fall,
Slinking in – Reality with cut thread.
‘Goodbye my knight.’
I scream on my star’s death.
Neck extended,
Held in the Fates’ taut cord –
Black, broken wisp, suddenly cageless…
Author Bio:
Regan is in his final year of a BFA (Creative Writing) at QUT etc.… do you really need to know more than that? You could be reading my work instead, you know. It’s far better than any dry self-aggrandising drivel that I could’ve written for this bio.
If you’d like to contact me, do so through my Instagram: @regancchern