Entry #664074, added on 08-18-09 @ 12:55 am EDT
Entry Access Restriction: None.
She handed me her poetry,
Handwritten on lined papers,
And as I took them from her,
A feather floated out,
Drifted out from between,
The cool sheets of her soul.
And maybe she didn't see it,
For she surely didn't react,
And the feather lifted high,
Carried by the breeze,
Lifted by the air conditioner,
Kept in my line of sight.
Her written words were a song,
And the melody haunting,
It wrapped itself around,
Around my inner-being,
Around my heart, my soul,
And held tight, refusing to let go.
The feather danced lightly,
Flit about like a bird in flight,
Kept the music spinning,
Kept my sight held captive,
I was a prisoner to her pain,
To the song and feather's cry.
An angel handed me her soul,
In written word upon paper,
And left her music in me,
Bittersweet singing in me,
Though none may believe, not even she,
A feather remains to tell of an angel's visit to me.
8/16/09 |
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Content Rating Notice: Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only
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