Poetry Corner

Within and Without

When do we stop floating?
Do birds ever settle
in one place?
I flit, I flee, I disappear.

Are humans like doves?
Innocent creatures
bound to one soulmate-
two souls, settled forever.

I don't belong here,
I don't belong there;
I float along the parallel,
within and without
the sky, a hopeful friend.

Pillowing pink clouds
arouse romantic feelings;
the littlest things
satisfy a wandering soul.

But even the sky disregards
a wingless bird,
drifting, drifting,
constantly drifting.

When do I stop floating?
When will I be a dove?
Wingless birds drift,
stuck,
lusting for another branch, another home, another soul.

I flee on my feet,
I flit through pages
I disappear on planes,
a wingless bird trying to fly.

wingless birds
don't have a home
wingless birds
travel alone.


xx
Hill