So you may be wondering who exactly I am, or maybe you don't really care. To those who have stuck around, I am pleased to have held your attention. I am the Lady of Birds. What exactly does that mean? Well, it means precisely what it says. The name holds true to itself without support or justification. It is what it is. Now that we have cleared that out of the way, I will present to you the first poem to mark the blessed internet (for maybe the 3rd time? I don't do well with blogging. I typically quit within the the first week). I hope the unpredictable blogging element adds to my mystique.
Anyways, this poem was conceived as of March. It is called "Orchids" though I still don't know why I chose that title.
May came through my window, softly
not wanting to wake the life that
still slept and breathed when
the world shut down
and the lights of the town
faded in now and forever
It was easy to live and to forget
and to set timetables for things
that haven't happened yet
but were anticipated by the anger
and frustration of the afternoon and
evenings that followed birth
sculpted by the hands of the earth
and shaped to fit a common soul's worth
But as the shift came forward
and all that was accepted became scarce
a beginning was made and an end was reached
and open fields met their breach
to the eyes who saw not love
but an enemy in life's arms
not wanting to wake the life that
still slept and breathed when
the world shut down
and the lights of the town
faded in now and forever
It was easy to live and to forget
and to set timetables for things
that haven't happened yet
but were anticipated by the anger
and frustration of the afternoon and
evenings that followed birth
sculpted by the hands of the earth
and shaped to fit a common soul's worth
But as the shift came forward
and all that was accepted became scarce
a beginning was made and an end was reached
and open fields met their breach
to the eyes who saw not love
but an enemy in life's arms
As time progresses, you may notice a theme within my work. I will let you figure it out on your own. And, you may see that almost every poem I write is written within the bounds of metaphor, except for when it's not, and it becomes evident where the genre and theme lies. And with that, goodnight.
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