|
 |
| Gazing, I attest a birds' aspiration to fly free. My spirit casts my mind into the sky, into a cloud to perceive. A tear, the falling raindrop from my eye. Amidst the fluffy white clouds, sprinkled throughout the sky. Dazed an exquisite dove winged upon the ground. Wondering why freedom has bestowed him, earth bound. Mind, oh the rhyme of wanting, to touch the highest peak. Down along the struggle how the dove sang his weep. Muscles honed as glass hesitating until the fall. Ensuing with downward plunge, how fast, as fast as rhythm, he saw. Then that split second, he'd risen up his beak. He danced unto the sky for the freedom which he reaped. Sing me, yes, that song, little dove of your achievements which once was. Tell me where has your piper gone, and of who this story is of. Which of us has risen unto that sky above. And of who casts that teardrop which now, bestows life unto a bud. My mind plummets from the cloud, a tear rolls down my cheek. The thought of wasted time like the dove, for the things we wish to reap. Though it is our nature, as with the stream, to find our father, despite our wanderings. |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |