Feathers

Nobody knows how she felt
That day, the white feathered bird

Traveling from the north
With her wings soaring high

Until they cut down her feathers
With their sword of inhumanity

In silence, she cried out,
Hoping they might listen to

The sound of her tears falling,
But alas! poor bird

She did not know,
The place she was traveling

No longer belonged to her
Not even the wind

That once played with her
And carried her like a child

Reviews

[emmajoy]

The sweet, gentle adventurer needs travel home. Her desire, her pleasure must have been so deep. Her reward: death. How cruel life is. How cold that wind that once carried her like a child.

So sad; so beautifully written.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

to be rejected by those who raised us? to have no place to call home...no nest upon which to rest---
yes, so sad.

j.

[Shannon]

The world is sometimes unspeakably cruel. You have shown that very vividly, this tells an extremely universal tale, many will relate.

This tragedy could be the birth story of a Phoenix, too.

[Xxxxxx]

Nice, shows how gradually the bird is falling apart in either, sadnesss, disappointment as if going through a huge sorrow.