melissaahowells
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in frosted stubble fields
the hunter aimed to pierce the breast then took his knife cutting away to reveal a heart once filled with song and symphony, now lead I was the doomed dancing grouse the last pigeon whose shadows once darkened prairie skies the un-partnered goose who scanned low and high for who the one she'd lost and now the wings old cry are lost the once-shared dreams of flight the old haunted songs of heights thoughts only for you and your kind are food at a table where I'm not blessed yet still nourished the hunters then I was that lost bird now could there be a tale of a bird a Phoenix not so unreal nor so rare could that be my story now unfilled with myth nor lies could one be miraculously be reborn from the fire of cares yet remain unhurt, unburned? a new Hunter having found me in this more recent time one who does not aim at the heart not with deceptions nor rifles at my sky my wings are mended my sight is yet, focused only still horizon-high redemption is in the greening stubbed fields and once again for me there will yield the truest promise of flight and I. LEGAL COPYRIGHT FOR THIS POEM/WORK TIME DATE STAMPED DECEMBER 2, 2018/6:42 am PST AND ALSO FOR THIS POET MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED SITE TITLE- MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD WRITTEN DIRECTLY TO THE PAGE Vote for this poem |
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