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My mind an endless corridor
My diamond heels clinking on the marble floor
My inner self
Walking past each and every shelf
Made out of glass
One of the shelves I couldn't pass
The book covers were made from pearls
And decorated with silver swirls
Through the silk pages I flicked
Until a new page I picked
With my pen, ink of liquid peacock feathers
I scribbled your name with golden letters
Putting it back on the shelf, I looked at the blue flames
Of the candles burning the handkerchiefs that no longer had names

The poem is very symbolical. To help you decipher it I'll give you what these things symbolise :

1. Corridor - symbol of direction, which will inevitably lead to the desired goal.

2.Diamond - spiritual power, committment

3.Marble - clarity, self-control and stability both physically and emotionally

4.Glass - invisible protection, but also brittle, unsteady one.

5.Pearls-perfection and incorruptibility; it is a symbol of long life, hidden knowledge, and it is highly feminine

6.Silver - mirror to the soul, helping us to see ourselves as others see us. 

7.Silk - strife for respect and appreciation, despite no valid achievements in your life, trying to compare yourself with other people

8.Peacock Feather - immortality

9.Ink - thoughts or decisions being permanent, irreversible, or serious. Thoughts about the finality of relationships, agreements, plans.

10.Gold - knowledge, spirituality and a deep understanding of the self and the soul

11. Blue Flame - core of the very strength and energy.

12.Handkerchief- When lovers sent handkerchiefs to each other it meant their love had faded
Maria Mitea Sep 26
Sky’s feathers
shedding on earth’s
burned umber skin
in a drifting dance spelling
away the winds,
with penetrating kisses
slowing down earth’s temper,
cooling in between its layers,
touching gently its crisp
unfreezing its heart,
bringing back on earth
the sublime.

Make the earth feel loved by the sky

That's why,
I believe in snowflakes,
Even if you would say,
anyway, they melt.
Cross Boundry Sep 23
Sometimes people just care too much
and it hurts.
But anyway
We'll try
We'll fly
and we'll fall.
and again.
wings of wax won't hold forever
These are mine the stars as end the light as thieves steal like light... Serine me the release to take from the universe of stars as fallen feathers prayer the beginning of song
Play the harp
Feather the white eternity meassuring the unyealding sight of many feathers to live once and outlast the unending forgivness of prayer to serve the will of mine
Guidance of fallen feathers to enter the will of mine to find the hidden darkness of unwilling sight of evil take the love to find the will of God to fall and fall for all of eternity
farhan Aug 7
Treat children like birds so they fly,
And not like darts to hit the bullseye.
Maia Jul 28
Aren’t we all broken birds?
Wings can’t flap no more,
Grounded from greed
Battered and sore
Wait, be careful, take heed,
Is this feeling war?
A war of grit and speed
Of blood and gore
This shouldn’t have been humanity’s seed
Return to the ground once more
Watch as it blossoms into… a ****

Birds into weeds
Born from once lore
Watch our broken wings bleed
We should have gone with more of an uproar
We are now all but a misdeed
Tired of facing every closed door
Wings clipped, no longer freed
Birds should have been made to soar

But now here we lay
Grounded at last
For our sins, we must pay
The past is not in the past
Our regret is immeasurable, some will say
That we can only ever sail half-mast
So as time passes our broken feathers shall grey
We will regret trying to climb so high so fast
Feedback anyone? thanks
Amanda Hawk Jul 19
hop, hop
two pigeons
exited the terminal
hopping up the stairs
step by step
we watch
from the escalators
as they make their way
to the downtown
without ruffling a feather
Stephen Star Jul 10
Who is this girl that twirls around at twilight
under the crescent moonlight and the fading sun?

With tears running down her face,
she holds an angelic smile upon her face.

What does she see?
What does she hear? and
What does she feel?

Black feathers begin to fall,
circling around the ruffles of her black dress,
landing by her bare-feet.

Who is this girl
and why does she turn at this hour?
What has she gained? and what has she lost?
Only time will tell,

yet here I am feeling found
while being lost in her day-spring eyes.
Wrote this poem the other day and remembered how I haven't posted here in a very long time. Tell me what you think!
“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,”

“And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I 've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.”

-Emily Dickinson.
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