Wings & wounds

Moods that form like ice.
Primitive and wild.
Divide these thoughts one by one.
With the seed of hope lying in the heron’s stomach.
Out of sight, and beyond our boundaries.
The breaks of tolerance have worn away.
And the world calls me now, out into the dark.
Listen.
Dream about the future. The annuals of time.
Plastering over the cracks and the doubts.
But hollow is the past, honeycombed and fretful.
Don’t get lost.
Un-buckle and rewind.
Begin once more as the heron spreads its wings.
Looking up, what does it see?
What do you wish to feel?
Simple ponds and stagnant waters you wish to leave behind.
There’s a calling, from the sea.

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Beauty lost at the Heron house

The world collapsed in thirty seconds there.
A beauty aged in a moment while the rose petals died.
Who faded into the future, without the knowledge of the past?
We all did.
We came once to that spot, to watch the herons dance.
To see how they cast their wing’s against a backdrop of stars.
Through tears we watched them fly, soaring along our fingertips.
But we did not know, or care to wonder;
if they’d ever return.
And the days folded into years while the crows walked across our faces.
Milking our eyes into the blurred canvas before us.
Sight dancing into all but silhouettes.
What was destroyed there, at the Heron house?
Was it love? Was it power to hold in the wells of your hand?
Surely love never dies. Love always saves the day.
But beauty was lost forever there.
When it was valued more than gold, in hearts that feared to fly.