The White Hawk.
Grey plane,dried leaves, and empty heart.no one can find me in this misty woods.
no one can believe that i am still alive.
even birds no longer put their nests on my shoulder.
Every day i watch the sun leaving
and the moon guarding the sky
in order not to let let the dark thinks that he has won
and all the roses have died.
I know you are there somewhere,
i will close my eye and open the door
and i will put the grains on the ground
waiting for the hope to rain
and to see the white hawk in the blue sky one more time.
..........before my bird fly away .
Poetry by eizen wolf
Read 768 times
Written on 2009-03-03 at 08:47
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