black against the grey
flapping flapping
this way
that way
faster faster
turning turning
faster faster faster
turning turning
flapping flapping
faster faster
turning turning turning
soaring
soaring
arise
when someone looks for miracles in a two-thousand-year-old book
sometimes i wonder
have they ever stopped and watched a seagull fly?
(© 2010
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I am the eagle, I live in high country,
In rocky cathedrals that reach to the sky.
I am the hawk and there’s blood on my feathers,
But time is still turning; they soon will be dry,
And all of those who see me, all who believe in me
Share in the freedom I feel when I fly.
-John Denver
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This poem was the first thing I've written in a long time that I've been a all happy about. Since, I've worked on tuning out my inner critic and writing some more, a couple of which I'll be posting soon.
(I misread your comment the first time, which is why I deleted my previous response and changed the reply slightly to make more sense.)
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