In this damp pen.
Where the children had left.
A sound. Flapping. where the pigeons go to rest.
The husk of the moon looming, like of bird of her nest.
The sun. Drained of her light, preparing for the plight soon to come.
For this moment. When she dies. And cannot fly. She glides down with grace.
Like a bird, of light. Flapping away from. Sorrow. Is the night.
She gives— a breath, of soft and quite.
As the moon engulfs her flame.
A shadow of you is left to gloom. The hollow sky.
The earth has wept, and this bench had two.
The warmth that she couldn't concive.
Was taken from you—
A given. A fruit.
Please hold me. For without you I could cry.
Tilting my head to the sky.
In disbelief.
The sky, empty. Nothing but nothing.
For you and me.
Could be given between me and me.
For outside this pen.
Is an illusion. Nothing but a view.
And pigeons too. Flapping.
I wrote this poem in a short period, I wanted to convey a mirror of human condition. The longing for a connection was an important aspect for me and I found it fitted beautifully within the text.
I'd love some honest feedback and to see your opinions on it.
