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A feather light,
A feather dark,
A feathered sight,
Like a hawk,
Who's the night,
Who's a lot,
For fish or fry,
Here it's cry,
A shriek of brave,
A shriek of grave,
A flutter of danger,
A flutter of passerby,
A flock alone,
Together be,
Shape of V,
They see,
From high above,
A hawk,
A seagull,
A dove.
A crow sees you,
But you don't know,
Perching quiet,
They sit a row,
Then the caw,
Look around,
They saw,
Now you see,
On the house,
On the tree,
Lined up,
On a line,
Along the ground,
Nibble and hop,
Hear a sound,
Then they stop,
See something,
Fly away,
But they all come back,
One of these days.
This comes to more than what I post
The life I lived and the moments I lost
In bringing the dreams together
All my wishes flew like butterfly
Birds shedding their feather
I leave each hope behind
Now I just live and breathe in unrest
Because I have got no conquest
Now all I do is wait
Wait to see what is stored in my fate
To turn my life around.
Bruce Demos Sep 16
Laying under the feather tree,
Breathing scents of serenity,
Soft down feathers come falling down
And swaddle me on fuzzy ground.
I'm fast asleep in memories
Of all the things I haven't seen,
As I stay by the feather tree.
I am a feather adrift on a breeze.
Awash in golden rays of sun,
Floating on the softest of summer winds,
Free to travel but happy to simply follow the gentle push and pull of the current.
I am happy.

I am a rock jammed into a mountainside.
Visible only to those who look closely,
Hidden by dust and dirt and age,
Strong and permanent and there.
I am happy.

I am a tree planted deeply into rich soil.
Illuminated by the sun above,
Nurtured by everything and resistant to toxicity,
Bright and happy and free to grow stronger and taller and wider.
I am happy.

I am the feather, but I am also the rock.
I am the rock, but I am also the tree.
I float and I sink and I grow, but above all else,
I stay happy.
Anastasia Aug 27
the same
soft color
the blue of the sky
soft clouds
drifting through them
a smile
that makes me fall
a drift
like a feather
i'd like
to kiss
Poetic T Aug 23
Pillow fight moments,
          as a snow storm

of feathers

                       coat the room in a allure.

snow ball fights ensue,

                tickling those they gently grace.

                         Parents walk in,  
stillness as the last feather descends.

Then laughter,
                as mum & dad do pillow

                 snow angels on the floor.
I brought a pigeon home today.
Maybe she can be friends with my dove,
If she ever meets him.
I think she wants something,
She's watching me right now.
I can't tell what she's thinking,
But with a spirit so free,
And wings to take her wherever,
I'm betting her thoughts are quite free too.
MayC Jun 4
it may sound crazy, but
do you know how many
species of ducks are there ?
beautiful, gracious, colorful
well, of course not.
because you'd rather
spend your time
crying over another copy
of a swan.

-May Colde
try to find the beauty in the unique.
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