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With wings outstretched, tilting my head, then banking to the left I break the pattern, the shell encasing my sky,
refusing the bonds or to live in the darkness of being discouraged… hope begins to fill my eyes,
with new life until finally the horizon comes into view, and I am free.
Amen.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
A solitary golden feather is lifted as the wind moves over the hawk’s shoulder.
Chipmunks are breathless as the mountains bask in the sunlight.
Yet the hawk spins his head towards a murmuring sound close by. A lone figure, praying in the shadows of the mountain.
Peace is seldom easy, so the hawk kept silent, honoring his descendants.
Weren’t humans descended from birds of prey?
Note: Influenced by Native American creation stories.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
My light, ignited by the colors of autumn,
spirit wings extended,
and the poems?
They simply write,
themselves
having learned how to fly.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
Since we are no longer held by the darkness that covers
our poems can fly now
within our prayers,
released finally
towards the sun
from the wings
of our spirit.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
My spirit wings are always made stronger,
able to fly further
as I breathe in the forest
and as light
dances on the water.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
It’s not that his soul was lost, he simply refused
to back down
when the hawks began to stare,
as he allowed his spirit
to take off,
through the pine trees.
To this day,
songs can be heard
in the distance
floating
in the western wind.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
When we cast our prayers over the oceans, will the waves remember us?
And will the wind be able to cleanse us pushing through our grey
shadows in order to bring the refreshing?
hopefully our words will catch wings ascending
beyond the clouds where our voice
will be heard, and our spirits
lifted. At least
we hope so.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
