Soar 47 Times

sleeping canary

…a bird without flight is no bird at all…

these words
these birds
sing my story
before it’s even lived
cavorting canaries
flocking headlong
into my future

impatient, decisive
they flirt and zing
across the calendar
goodbye January blues
so long February love songs
rat a tat, rat a tat tat
to the marching
bands of spring

word on paper
wing on sky
they rush and hush
and flush away
the ambiguous grey
of slow-moving
mediocre days

their gracing arc
their lilting dart
shames the feeble hunch
the sorry slouch
of shoulder over a desk
the dragging down
of me

fly far with faith
their feathers write
climb from your coal mine
and flap your arms
in belief
soar 47 times
around the sun
at least

hear our rustle
our flutter
the swishing sweet
of your own symphony

This entry was posted in Agony and Ecstacy, Life, Musings, Nature, Poems, Poetry, Thoughts, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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