The Melancholy of a Dark Gosling

They called me joy, a gift from sky,

But I was born where shadows lie.

A gosling dark, not golden-bright,

My feathers kissed by passing night.

The others laughed in sunny rings,

Their chirps like bells, their hopes with wings.

I followed close, yet stayed behind—

A half-step out of every line.

Their down was light, their hearts were loud.

They honked in dreams and drew a crowd.

I learned to watch, to fold my sound,

To nest in places not profound.

I wished for warmth, a single nudge,

A gaze not sharp, a soul that’d budge.

But kindness came in passing crumbs,

And silence stayed when comfort numbs.

I feared the mirror in the lake—

What if I cracked? What if I break?

The ripples mocked with every stare,

And still, I longed to see me there.

One dusky duck, so full of grace,

Once looked at me, just past my face.

My chest had thundered, wings gone numb—

But love, unsaid, will not become.

I’ve danced in moonlight, all alone,

The stars my stage, the night my home.

A rebel honk, soft and suppressed,

Died gently in the cattail’s chest.

I raged in reeds where no one hears,

A tantrum kept for unseen years.

My flippers slapped the water’s skin,

Then stilled, ashamed of all within.

Do dreams expire if never aired?

Do they decay from being spared?

What if my silence was a cage—

A lullaby that numbs the rage?

I do not wish to steal their sun,

Just find a patch where I can run.

A gentle pond, a softer breeze,

Where dark-winged goslings fly with ease.

Sometimes I dream I rise in flight,

My wings unjudged, my heart made light.

The sky would not demand I change,

Nor ask my shadows to rearrange.

I’d honk so loud the stars would blink,

And in that sound, I’d cease to sink.

No more pretending I’m not here,

No more retreat from quiet fear.

But dreams are safe when kept inside.

They only fail when they collide.

So here I float and softly gleam,

The quiet keeper of a dream.

A gosling dark, but not erased,

A silence growing, not misplaced.

And though I never stole the light,

I found a voice inside the night.

Not loud. Not bright. But deeply true—

A whispered honk the dusk once knew.

And if I vanish come the dawn,

Know this: in shadow, I was drawn.

And in the hush the world forgot,

A darkling dreamed, and hurt, and fought.

Not every honk was meant to roar—

Some echo in the evermore.