Friday 18 March 2016


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

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