is there healing
for the dove,
something to mend
the mourning soul's wounds,
grieving for the death of herself;
something to clear away the ache
of the flashing memories
of cutting through blue skies
and the heights to which
she would soar and rise
that never leave her mind
these memories hurt worse
than her broken wing,
lost to a storm of wind—
wind and shadows and madness,
and the impact of the ground
felt final, like a last goodbye
she never was granted
as her eyes flutter shut tonight
just as her wings have fluttered,
she dreams not of flying
but soaring through the bitterness
that threatens to take her heart
and she realizes her wings
weren't what helped her find freedom,
but her aching and wanting
to live
she rises,
a phoenix born not from ash
but a sparking idea
that lights her life
like a match—
a blooming fire
shaping into
the fiery wings
she has given herself
when she looks to the sky
and finds hope
heyyyy everyone:)) here's a poem I've been writing on the bus on the way to school during the weekdays. hope you like it!! also, thank you guys for the writer's block advice! those specific playlists that pop up on my YouTube recommendations are what I LIVE FOR. and thank u scarlettlantsov for creating that amazing playlist. those two hours were PHENOMENAL.
I AM NO LONGER AN UNCULTURED SWINE OF MUSIC.
love y'all as always,
mari