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Danielle Witt Feb 23
She came floating in
Her presence felt by all those around.
She tosses her hair and teases her fans.
This past love of a love of mine.

Dances from place to place
On the affection of her loves,
Never looking back
Not believing in mistakes.

Feathers of turquoise and emerald
She holds her head high,
For she is a great peacock
The past love of a love of mine.

I am but the swan in the lake.
A body of white, a beak of gold
Some say graceful, other say gauche
Though I have found my Neuschwanstein.

Everything I am is for him
So now I am sure
She will only ever be
A past love of a love of mine.
Hathere Nov 2018
So, what if I do
I woke with these words
Upon my lips...

Ask you
What does it Mean?

When will we Stop being
Slaves to our feathers
When will we stop being slaves to our feathers?
S Nirmal Kumar Nov 2018
Sighting the preening peacock
Slithered into the bush
Wily snake
Anya Sep 2018
He's a Peacock
Strutting about
Primped and preened
With feathers neatly arranged
My little brother
In his new choir clothes
Anya Sep 2018
There is a fundamental difference
between the peacock and the butterfly
Both are beautiful
Both are deserving
But when it comes down to it
One struts proudly
while the other...
quietly flutters away
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018
Flaunting issues
Like a peacock in pain
An array of problem you fan out
Like you’ve got someone to impress
Let me tell you
I am not impressed
Ezzah Saleem Dec 2017
Her eyes were cold,
Her lips were pale,
Her heart was frozen,
Her smile was broken,
Her soul was empty,
Her face was spotted with regrets and pain,
Her mind was possessed by some unknown powers,
Her emotions were burried when she was a young girl,
She was a peacock in a cage,
Beautiful but locked.
She had no words and no voice
For silence ruled her.
Her memory was her enemy
For it left her alone everytime.
Her fears? They were uncountable, infinty.
Her thoughts? They would haunt her.
Her dreams? They failed.
Her people? They ditched.
She was a dead flower,
No color, no fragrance,
Only thorns attached
And petals crushed.
That was her identity.
Nishu Mathur Aug 2017
As dark clouds thunder on a grey day,
Resounding across the arid plains,
I hear the loud cries of a bird,
It cuts across the rhythmic drumming of the clouds,
He's quiet for a moment, then I hear him again.

Through the trees I see him,
Royal, an electrifying metallic  blue,
A peacock, stunning, strutting,
Fanning his train of feathers,
Eyespots of majesty, stroked with mossy hues.

He dances in a flamboyant display,
In spot light, as lightening flames the sky above,
Nonchalant, a blue crested head turns with pride,
His ornate train, shimmering, beckoning, to and fro,
His moves, a courtship ritual of love.

His iridescent trail woos in style,
A life of its own in its opaline shades
Golden, blue, brown and green,
Colors of the earth, gloriously resplendent,
A gathered spectacle in  his plumage.

As drops of rain touch the earth,
He is still high on the wings of romance,
His feet in motion,
His feathers spread for his mate,
Quivering, glimmering a love dance.
Shofi Ahmed Jun 2017
Like a southern song singing on a dream scene.
a smooth fairy dance facing the Moon
a thrill of exposing Stonehenge once and for all
a melodious raindrop in the serene pond
a butterfly dance on the rose
a turned on tall tale of the blue peacock
Like a pure belief in heaven without a pinch of salt!
Poetic T Jun 2017
Her eyes see everything but
blind to everything but
                     her own beauty.
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