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.