A feather lay on the sill of an open window A slight breeze escapes into the room The feather sways to the rhythm of its commander Waiting to land.
But that feather never does And the wind continues to gush by The feather flows in the air Waiting to land.
So close to the ground So close to the infinite possibilities, But that feather is grabbed mid-air Never getting the chance.
The ground stays empty, The hand of the receiver stays full, And that feather stays waiting, Waiting for its chance on the ground.
But the ground has no promises There will never be a complete reassurance there So for now the feather lays safe in the hands of another Until the feather is willing to fall And the ground lay empty, Waiting for that feather to land.
I have my own thoughts that went behind this poem... but I figured I would do a poem that instead of being straight to the point, it is up for interpretation. That way, more people can relate to it.