Solitude
Solitude
A crested lark takes flight to the window,
Its façade, the simplest grace and flick of the wrist,
Upon the piano, in a pirouette of feeling,
Its symbol, the imperial freedom of flight.
It wears a rosette, bound fast in its beak,
And I rise from the single room storehouse,
The bold, arulean flame of a phoenix caged.
And it rises in the yard, the slumber shaken from its eyes,
And I run, the phoenix in an arulean flame of
a destined love
And its imperial freedom, sears my eyes, the rhythm revived,
And I am living, once again, a caged bird freed.
The bird that has lay in wait two years,
During and after a war,
Every day bound in its dungeon,
Singing futile hymns to the wind, and in turning,
Revived by the endeared face of her true love,
Revived, enflamed, once again and burning.
Copyright © Ashley Mckennon | Year Posted 2010
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