Little bird, an egg of gold, to be born with wings of white.
You hatched upon the blue- blue sky, but never flew all to high.
Little bird, a flutter or too. Hopping branch to branch.
You've reached the tops of the highest trees, but never felt the stronger breeze.
Little bird, o' little bird I say, chirping beautiful on your way.
Hard to miss, reaching long, they'll never know why you sing those songs.
Little bird, with feathers molting down, and reflecting the gold sun anew.
They stop to look, but never think - too different a kind,they couldn't drink.
Little bird, yes little bird, stopping by the clouds?
Sweeping up all the dust, then closing your wings -with winded trust.
Little bird, with bright mooned eyes, but never a moon to reach.
Laying in a dreamful bust, Sighing down with wishful lust.
Little bird, common little bird! They watch for graceful skies.
But only your wings to open calm, and touch down soft, unsure and solemn.
Little bird with gifts from heaven, a gift to glide above.
-But even with pain and love for life and lord, there's more to why you never soared.
YOU ARE READING
Behind My Eyes
PoetryA posting of every poem that I've ever written ...in continuation, as I write new things and express myself. Experience everything that lies behind my eyes. I am not very active on this site and only have used it to draw out my talents and express...
