Wings in the Dark Valley

"Tossed"

When you walk in the dark valley
and the shadow-wings follow you
looping down over you, hiding you
from the light
with their tarnished feathers . . .
and you sense that coppery scent of blood as
you bite your lips to staunch the cry of fear. . .

you feel alone
and bereft of hope;
deep cries, deep cries wrench your soul . . .
and your tears quench your thirst.

No one will find you when you stumble or
when the talons dig deep through your hunched back,
and the ropes bind you . ..
the wings, the powerful wings wrap around your face
blinding you,
smothering you,
taking away your voice . . .
like a silent snake
they wrap tighter . . . tighter than the
vines around that lonesome pine . . .
leaning close above your head,
leaning over that dark valley floor.. .

yet in the stillness around you
your ears hear a whistle,
a simple warble, a query,
and then an arietta .. ..
a slight touch 
like a tingle of electricity.. .. ..
the song of the morning drifts in 
on the wispy wings of melody
and finds its home in your heart
and with its tremulous whisperings
has the magic of music
to break your bounds . ..
and lift your wings with the wind of a song
and give you the grace and strength
to fly out of your shadows
and away from your fear.
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"Wings in the Dark Valley" was written with my left-hand as part of an experimental inquisitiveness (noted in an earlier posting)  regarding what type of poems would come from my right brain .  .. .. but it was a poem I struggled with for days and finally improved with my right-hand .. .
"Tossed" is a picture I took on the way to work . . .. as I walked down the street, near my school, I saw this thing laying over a hedge, just tossed there, like some sort of offering to the gods . .. It gave me conflicting feelings, sorrow, fear and amusement . . . I took several pictures of this deserted, tattooed, headless manikin . . .