Flight
Myself, Feathers cut, broken, battered, pulled. Abused. Defeathered. Grounded. Molted. Feathers replaced, renewed, replenished. I start to fly again, and now, I do not fly alone. Campfires, BBQs, the swish of a canoe paddle, the sound of river silence, and I start to soar, and now, I do not soar alone. Ropes, knots, clamps, axe heads, and tools. I soar. I soar in Jerusalem, in the Garden, to "Because He Lives," and now I do not soar alone. I soar in Petra, in a stone cavern to "How Great Thou Art," and now, I do not soar alone. In the darkness, in the night, my lady's naked foot rubs my shin, and I soar, and the sky is mine again, and now, I do not soar alone. The sun shines on me, The SON shines on us, and now, I do not soar alone. Robert Thiessen Robert Thiessen worked at General Motors, most recently as a millwright, and is now retired. He lives in Sarnia, Ontario. This is the second poem he wrote in his lifetime, part of the ekphrastic 20 Poem Challenge.
1 Comment
Deborah Guzzi
11/12/2015 05:32:25 pm
Your verse lifted me. Thank you Robert.
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