Poet of flight

Every Poet in any nature
Whether it be verse, stroke or tune
Has Felt the Edge of days between
Which spills in the sky at noon
Its As if the sun and moon were summoned to have mercy
On humans in the distant deserts of drudgery
The windows open up as the flight brings in passions wings constant fluttering.
In this livelong moment the scientist of abstraction so had their mind fill with song and flurry.

What passes then is more unknown that the origin of stars, who;s instinctual flight alike
To take that gift of a feather departed
Who swift depart a blessing in its own right
The poet obliged by both space and flight
To pick up the instrument of design and finish the piece by night.