A thousand years from now,
the human race will find The Bird of Heaven,
and fall in love with such a beautiful creature.
Wings crafted of pure white, cascading
a variety of colors and shades over the
lands it gracefully soars across. It leaves
a sort of shimmer that mesmerizes all,
a glint in the eyes of those who catch a glimpse.
For some it is salvation from everything.
A thousand and ten years from now,
the human race will capture The Bird of Heaven,
and study this beautiful creature.
Wings are tattered up close, holes allowing
pockets of colors to fall through to the
lands below, casting a rainbow effect. It leaves
a residue that sticks to the skin and burns,
a tear in the eyes of those who suffer the touch.
For some it becomes a horror of nature.
A thousand and eleven years from now,
the human race will shame The Bird of Heaven,
and fall in love with the idea of such a beautiful creature.
Distance creates a false image, projecting
ignorant assumptions and misplaced awe upon
the people who allow themselves to believe. It leaves
a perfect picture of something not so perfect,
an image in the eyes of those who hunger beauty.
For some, they hunger beauty to own, not to cherish.
A thousand and twelve years from now,
a man might see The Bird of Heaven,
and love it from the inside out, and say,
*What a beautiful creature.