Upon the crimson wings it flies,
it dips, it dives,
it falls.
Collapsing to the trampled earth,
away from distant calls.
This is the tale of a life once lived,
of a laugh which chortled,
of lips which whispered the harmony of love,
of eyes which searched for truth
and of infantile hands which held dreams within their finger tips.
Within a breath, a single moment, a being became a been.
A purpose became a memory.
Life lost its seam.
Through an aging world the vulnerable stumbled,
abandoned to navigate their path alone.
No signs stood tall to guide slung heads,
no tracks led to salvation.
As they went where weary feet fell,
they dragged their souls in tow.
Bliss only came when their hearts stopped thinking,
when their swollen eyes could see no more.
The mirage will fall and despair will call,
but in dreaming they forgot what came before.
Through an emerald haze they saw the beauty,
the laughter, the love, the life.
Exhausted fingers could not make firm clasp on a stable future,
for they were battered and broken from defending the night.
In the labyrinth of their emotion they shook,
they lay their heads down low,
for they could no longer carry the beacon.
All light had lost its glow.
A child is supposed to be filled with innocence,
in a cage, inside their heart, the dove of peace should sit,
for some their birds have spread their wings
and with their haste have left the child’s heart ripped.
By Jennifer Pickering
Intellectual Property of Jennifer Pickering. Gain permission before use.
Jennifer Pickering 