Quiet urges to be born in daylight's infamy,
Placid, still and calm, jaded day will succumb and die.
Birds, the artisans of flight, startle in majesty,
Their gentle feathered wings, flicker, seducing the sky.
Salient wings against gentleness, will against chance.
Now that is the inevitable path to romance.
The battered work weary, urge their brothers to find rest,
And walk silently head-bowed toward grey skies that dance.
They raise their old arms like followers of song and jest,
Glad for another moment to leap and shout “hurrah!”
To hurdle high and raise coloured flags against the black,
It is at sunset, when they search for a guiding star,
With disenchanted love in their hearts they don’t glance back,
But plunge from the nest like brave birds drifting forever.
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Author:
David Wakeling (
Offline) - Published: December 13th, 2024 02:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
Offline)
Comments4
Good write David.
Thank you mi amigo
Great write David
Thank you
You're welcome
Truly lovely this poem speaks to the heart about birds and also it’s metaphor. A true work of art.
Thank you for your insight
Love me a nature metaphor! 👍🏻
Indeed.Thsnks for reading
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