One thousand blackbirds in a tree,
a flapping, squawk filled canopy—
restless wings as dark as night
carry them through dawn’s thin light.
Oh, to soar among them free
escaping complications trite.
Grounded though I must remain
to tread this earthen road of pain,
while gravity’s insistent hold
quells my hope with fingers cold,
condemning me to life mundane
mocked by raucous beasties bold.
Are You Reading Me?
Birds that fly above the trees
ReplyDeleteSo free to glide life’s gentle breeze
with warmth of earth that rises only
to lift the curse of dark and lonely.
While free to fly, or dream at least
of freedom; self-imposed release.
Still grounded, to the present course
a road less traveled at least endorse.
Though gravity anchors; holds you bound
words shall never let you down.
The road of dreams though hard and long
May one day lead to heaven’s song