deepundergroundpoetry.com
La Voladora
When I was a little girl, growing up in Chile
My father told me a story of a terrible monster.
At night it flies about on widest black wings
While once it was a girl, only one older than I.
La Voladora is her name, and one she shares
With others of her kind who serve dark power.
Where she flies many see her shadow on the wall
A tragic child is she, long parted from her kin.
Oh Voladora, what makes you so sad?
Did you not have a proper mom and dad
Or were you stolen away from your crib,
And in some sorcerer's cavern artfully hid!
Sometimes the wind cries for her very sadly
When the season of death, horrible things stirs.
She is a messenger, black tidings she brings
Across the treetops upon the second hour's sigh,
Past midnight is the time when magic art dares
To alter the form of a once most delicate flower.
I walked in her shade many times, heard her call
A frightened child was I, chilled deep within.
Oh Voladora, what makes you screech?
I heard your story, now it is mine to teach
So that your legend can continue on ever,
While children hide from you as if in fever!
When daylight comes the creature will return
To where its' entrails wait hidden on their plate.
Then the bird woman devours what was hers
To regain the form of a young girl and be free,
Able to walk on proper legs and also not burn
From the magic fire that brings her out so late.
Only to call her again when comes her curse
While her masters chant and cackle with glee.
Oh Voladora, what makes you to fly?
Better not to know so you will not die
From darker sorcery that has no name,
A power unchecked that cannot be tamed!
My father told me this when I was so young
A dark part of me loved hearing this tale sung.
My father told me a story of a terrible monster.
At night it flies about on widest black wings
While once it was a girl, only one older than I.
La Voladora is her name, and one she shares
With others of her kind who serve dark power.
Where she flies many see her shadow on the wall
A tragic child is she, long parted from her kin.
Oh Voladora, what makes you so sad?
Did you not have a proper mom and dad
Or were you stolen away from your crib,
And in some sorcerer's cavern artfully hid!
Sometimes the wind cries for her very sadly
When the season of death, horrible things stirs.
She is a messenger, black tidings she brings
Across the treetops upon the second hour's sigh,
Past midnight is the time when magic art dares
To alter the form of a once most delicate flower.
I walked in her shade many times, heard her call
A frightened child was I, chilled deep within.
Oh Voladora, what makes you screech?
I heard your story, now it is mine to teach
So that your legend can continue on ever,
While children hide from you as if in fever!
When daylight comes the creature will return
To where its' entrails wait hidden on their plate.
Then the bird woman devours what was hers
To regain the form of a young girl and be free,
Able to walk on proper legs and also not burn
From the magic fire that brings her out so late.
Only to call her again when comes her curse
While her masters chant and cackle with glee.
Oh Voladora, what makes you to fly?
Better not to know so you will not die
From darker sorcery that has no name,
A power unchecked that cannot be tamed!
My father told me this when I was so young
A dark part of me loved hearing this tale sung.
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