What's left

Pigeons of My Heart

In the darkened halls of my heart,

Are pigeons, sat

With feathers engorged

Against the cold of rooftop’s bream;

Their hearts are not tallest yet,

Those beady eyes,

Insight-full,

Are blinded by the walls,

Stubborn walls that on all sides surround.

 

From above, they are just grains

Of thought inside that mind,

Watching them fly away

From prejudice is sweet,

Bitterly, the bitten friends,

With heartbreak in their movement;

When the halls are closed off,

 

In darkness, birds are the light-

Weight feathers on horizon,

A fan of things to come,

On their slates and emerald moss,

Forever a part of the land,

In themselves are dazzling;

Mediocracy, infinite glory,

That they can choose to leave the little girl.

 

Those halls are only dark

Because of rain, reflected

From a tarring life;

Down to the streets those feelings do fly

Necks abobbing up,

Nodding down in disrespect;

And now they’re gone,

The girl, she smiles

At movements of her feathered mind,

The abstract motions of her past,

And life the clouds had covered;

Once in bleak portrait,

Now alive.

The End

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