In our ancient past, and in the not too distant future,
hawks will gently rest on our shoulders,
with their wings intricate, layer upon layer
of feathers to not only hold the wind
but to keep our prayers, tucked away until
the appointed time, and they lift off with a scream,
in the midst of the battle, as heaven rages,
against the never ending night.
In our ancient past, and in the not too distant future.
Poetry © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
image from udhwallpapers via google