366 Poems: March 16, 2016

The Free Bird’s Dilemma

Me, myself, and I, and these white wings of mine

are here at the cloud crossroads

with nothing but time.

For I’ve spent sixteen years

wishing badly to fly

and at last all these feathers have grown.


But that was before another’s warm wings I‘d known

like the peacock, so grand

but landlocked and alone.

And he’s so beautiful

but he sinks like a stone

and I can’t pull him up, though I try.


Now the vacations, migrations, overnight stays

are just not worth the hustle

of our flightless days.

Because I’ve felt more free

in the warmth of his gaze

than my feathers ever knew before.


And I look at that sky and I know what’s in store,

but that sweet freedom air

isn’t sweet anymore.

So I’ll sit here with him

on our bright forest floor,

until my farewell song finally plays.

“Colorful Wings: Peacock”


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