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Lainey May 12
As the new day dawns
A feather floats slowly on
Cloud reflected seas.
liakey Apr 23
i am so weak.

like a feather dancing in the wind,
flowing freely with the breeze.

i need you to save me, to lead me,
to guide the winds that carry me;
you do so with such ease.

although the leaves around me may rustle,
there is nothing you do not see.

you show me the direction,
i surrender to you;
at last, I am free.
Raz Jorden Apr 16
I gave you my wings but you let me fly
Wishing wells forever echo our sound
With painted feathers of lost memory
I sweep silent my old bones from the ground
I wanted to stick with the others
but it was when I fell off
I learned how to fly
you don't know what you are capable of, until you try on your own. that when you see your strength and that you are unique and brave
annh Feb 19
A single feather falls
- down to earth -
through filtered light and liquid forest air,
landing softly in the palm of my hand,
a silver teardrop, a song, a memory;
the echo of a startled kererū.

E koekoe te tūī, e ketekete te kākā, e kūkū te kererū.
Not back - just visiting. Miss y’all!
Have just started Te Reo Māori classes. The last line translates as: ‘The tūi chatters, the parrot gabbles, the wood pigeon coos.’
Broken wings and ****** feathers
the grey dove tries to fly once more
It feels as if it's being pulled in one direction
And being unable to follow the leash
It watches forlornly as the others around it
the ones who had been broken by the same thing
take flight
but the little grey dove
isn't so sure if she's ready to take flight anymore
She's not sure who's fault it was.
The cat who broke her wings and threw her?
Or was it herself, for letting him do it?
The little grey dove
is waiting instead of doing
She knows that time can heal her wounds.
But perhaps the bone is broken
too far up.
Perhaps she'll never fly again.
No one comes to keep her company through out the months
she's made a small refuge, a place to sleep
a place to heal
But every once in a while
A newly white dove comes by
with a bent feather of her friends
evidence that the cat is still out there
While she sits
and heals
and does nothing.
Jim Musics Jan 31
The woods is wet and still
And cold, just at freezing
There's no pretty snow on the ground
No birds talking, just a tiny white and tan feather
On the tiny still brooklet
My thoughts are quiet, quite unusual for me
I feel no pain, no sadness
I feel too dull to long
'Sounds like a drug did this
It didn't
I don't mind this
Maybe I just forgot to push, forgot to care
For a little while
'Only thing missing ~ warmth
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