the sky reflects
what I reflect
how I reflect
it thinks as
I would think
grey on grey on grey
with little spots of blue
in between
and here now:
the crow bobs in
hops flops nearly falling down
then startled
takes wing
I am in HIS wings
flying
I see in him
my blacker self
feathers askew
and a halting gait
lop-sided
we mind how others mind us
or do we
mind
how we are deemed
to be
his voice
is my voice
betrays a certain vibration
annoyance or
a choice
I hear his loneliness
a cry
that is a cry
of me
is his call
defeated
beaten down
scorn-filled
a bitterness or pall
is it pain or bad chance
or the un-simplification of
some great difficulty
yet
how I am rooting for him
see how his
courage propels him upwards
as he one-foot hops
into the sky
it takes a lot
to stay
alive
and
to fly above
the fray of
continually scattering
feathers
do both crow and I
being born to the flock
find the need of
lone flight (a lot)
is this the reason
I crave the wide plains
of sky?
Copyright May 23, 2014/All Rights Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells/Tilt-a-World
Copyright June 11/2015 re-edited All Rights Are Reserved By This Author
Meloo/Melissa A Howells straight from her Tilt-a-World/Copyright Site Title
All ideas/rants/poetry/prose is the expressed legal property of this writer.
Thank you kindly for reading. I write this poem in gratitude for a return to
health. The crow gave me hope.