Tears Over Manila, The Song of Hearts

Tears Over Manila, The Song of Hearts

The crow's heart crouched
among the tattered husks
of last years pods. . .
withered,
eviscerated.
His wings,
mere rhymes
of limbs,
lay folded
across the breast
of hopelessness.

Beneath his feet
he could feel
the sap of the redbud tree
rising.
Tell me,
oh, Great Spirit. . .
he thought.
Is it as I have dreamed?
Will I fly tonight,
and will I see tomorrow,
tears over Manila?

His head bowed. . .
he prayed.
Oh, Great Spirit,
give me please
for this one flight,
the wings of an albatross,
and gift my sight
with the seas of China
that I may see
on the morrow
tears over Manila.

Grind my bones,
shape shift my soul,
and this heart of mine
will supply the Crow.
Give me strength,
cast out my sorrow
for Arogo's tears rest silently
where I must go.
Oh, Great Spirit hear the plea,
of your warrior true who must soon see
tears over Manila.

Oh, Great Spirit,
will the dawn break bleakly
on my tomorrow?
Will my feet be clutching still
redbud blossoms in Ohio,
or will I, with your embrace,
find myself beneath the feet of angels?
Is it in Tokyo where this heart must rest?
Will flight be mine tonight?
Grant these wings hope that I may cry
tears over Manila. . .

Oh, Great Spirit,
will I once more hear
the whisper of the nightingale's love,
or am I damned forever
inside the rhymes
of a mockingbird's song?
Does her heart beat swiftly. . .
sweeter still than yonder heart
perched silent under a blue star's wan?
As this heart cries for the nightingale,
please release my tears over Manila.

Aloud he spoke, the brother of the raven.
"Be gone, my fear of flight,
clutch tight my heart whose wanders rest,
and cloak still the ever trembling breast
of one whose angels stir.
Come silently my heart unraveling
in midnight's mourning winds,
oh, sing for me the song of hearts
my precious.
Oh, sing for me my nightingale tonight
as your tears fall somewhere in Manila."

"Oh, broken wings speak to my heart of farewell,
and heart speak softly,
more gently still your song my precious sing. . .
whilst on earth the redbud tree will sing his song of heaven.
Oh, sister wind please hear
amidst the calming touch of your lonely wail
the song of the one my heart names a chroi. . .
and on your arms when she sings please bring to me
the beautiful voice of my nightingale.
Oh, when my heart's tears fall tonight
scatter them for me in Manila."

"Oh, the buds on the redbud tree
wait for me before you bloom,
I will be there in a while
to hear the songbird sing.
Beneath the original tree I stand
where once I heard her song,
oh, sing for me the song of hearts
my precious. . .
sing for me thy lovely song once more.
If it must be that my heart will cry,
tonight my tears must fall through the sky over Manila."

"Oh, sing for me the song of hearts
my precious.
Oh, sing for me the song of hearts.
Paint for me the path to Quezon,
so sweet your voice, the brush, the reason
why my wings appear to faintly tremble
as I sit silhouetted across the redbud moon.
Awaken wings. . . my heart's preamble,
the leap of flight with faith the symbol.
Oh, my heart's the needle, your voice the thimble
that sews the threads of these tears tonight over Manila."

"Oh, sing for me the song of hearts
my precious,
sing for me the song of hearts tonight.
Meet me in the redbud tree my daughter
beneath Orion and the copper moon,
where I will bare this heart of pain
as the pink and purple redbuds bloom.
Oh, my nightingale sing for me,
the lovely song you sang before
the shadow of the mockingbird
casts aside the tears I cry over Manila."

"Oh, mockingbird keep silent
sing for me nevermore,
as my heart longs for the song of the nightingale
who sings from some fair, distant shore.
Oh, mockingbird still thy whistle,
sing not for me the riddle of your borrowed song
as my heart still waits for heaven's ale,
the achingly beautiful song of my nightingale.
Oh, my precious sing for me
and as I sit silent here in the redbud tree,
our tears may meet tomorrow somewhere near Manila."

Oh, now my precious has sang for me
the song of hearts from within the redbud tree.
Tomorrow on daylight's trail of heaven
will I at last find myself
beneath the feet of angels?
Will it be in Toyko
where this heart must rest?
Will this crow and the nightingale
sing the song of hearts together
as their tears touch tomorrow
somewhere in Manila?

Beneath the tears of angels
flies the heart of TheRealCrow.
Steady with wings unbroken,
he flies the path he has been granted.
A stray feather earthward falls
into the Sea of China
as the heart of the nightingale calls.
The crow sings, Oh, Great Spirit,
this man thanks you
for the heart you have given him,
and for the daughter whose love
cannot be measured.