The First and Final Flight

A bird I saw, a fallen one
A baby, nothing more
And barely could it be recognized
Lying smashed outside my door

It hadn't even grown to fly
Not even grown a wing
Not even grown to feel the sky
Not even grown to sing

And then a person kicked it away
She didn't want to see it
The bird just left, light as a feather
Ironical, all be it

Now as I watched, a bird flew down
And swept above that place
Though I dare not say what she meant by this
It was an act so full of grace

In that swoop was some fierce pride
Some raw and passionate sorrow
I'm probably wrong, it was all imagination
And it'll all be forgotten tomorrow

The young bird at least had a flight
Though its first one was its last
A flight for life, a flight for death,
A flight from present to past.




Poetry by fungi
Read 666 times
Written on 2006-05-20 at 12:02

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Zoya Zaidi
Very poignant poem!
The metaphor of the bird was very,
Very expressive, and clever.
The postive note it ends on is also very charming!
Have you read my "Bird's Saga?"

Love it fungi.
Zoya
2006-05-21


Pamela A Lamppa
Nature in all its grace can also be so ugly. Survival of the fittest I guess. It is amazing how life moves. This verse is no less amazing. A piture of Spring and how with all its beauty, this too does exist. Nicely done. ~Pam
2006-05-20