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Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
    of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast      
    has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
     heaving with song

The mystical feathered troubadour's
     swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;

rousing a lonely heart's esprit
     to fly away unfettered
     in constellations of song

How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
     when you wish upon a star  

Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!

    Rolling like trailing thunder;
        tucked and tumbling ―
             somersaulting,

           celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy

A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
    dreaming of that shapeless  
          w h o  o  o  o  s h ―
         gathering beneath
        ~ uplifting wings ~

  Suddenly ― gliding freely,
       winging gracefully
  upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song

Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle

... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
    if my heart had wings



imagined by:   Jesse Stillwater
22nd  April  2018

Imagination set free ... perhaps rooted in the branches of a tree
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2397540/a-lost-angels-wings/

Luscinia, nightingale -  songbird noted for its melodious nocturnal song
.
We had nothing,
but we were used to it.
But then I had you.
You had me.
And I was terrified
because I finally had something
I was scared to lose.
An empty cage stand on the lawn,
Wet, rusty and old.
Longing for his bird,
Yearning for her lonely songs.
Without her, he's no longer his purpose.

Perhaps his heart wasn't really made of steel.
Perhaps being selfless is better
Than being himself.
Perhaps she is somewhere
Singing.
  Apr 2019 Karizza Liangco
Pyrrha
Love is the crossroads of two garden paths
The thing about loving is that it is selfless
I will want to love you more and think of myself less
So I choose to walk your path and tend to your beautiful flora
While I forsake my own in your love and care
It is you and I who decide when we wilt and when we flourish

But will I let it wilt in the end?

— The End —