SKY

Here, Light does not take wing;

each moment stands

unmoving, shackled to a shadow, 

a burden of mundane tides

destined to merge into oblivion,

that eternal resting place

of sorrow unseen

and broken melodies forsaken,

for they meet no heartstrings. 

Springtide cast a wounded thrush

with cheery cherry blossoms

into my cupped palms,

its song adrift in perfumed breezes,

weeping upon vernal colours.

Tears and Sun

veiled the baleful borderland

where bloodied wing merged into

papery pink petals, a tender kinship

of waning life threads.

My reddened palm, sweet passerine,

was your Plain of Death,

a fitting interim nest of unwilling

human flesh and blood that laments 

every breath and beat

of Life's pulse. Solace awaits in the

flight of my soul. 

Wherefore would one such as I 

incarnate into the tangible?

The spirit seeks its likeness, it is said.

Shall you and I, gentle ave,

evermore hold the sky in wing and eye?

© 2016 Lily's Verse

Lilium Candidum

Image source: bienvenuechezhug.centerblog.net

Artist: Basil Ede