The Little Shadow Colored Wings
Reality seen beyond the dream of fallen angels,
They come in pictures holding illness and chaos,
And where feathers fall where humans are,
Wars are easily triggered from the fall,
So quickly is the deed of the bullet pierce,
And so quickly does the flames spark.
Feeling the vibrations in the wind
From the tragic tunes of children singing,
Notes of solitude and silence,
Makes the music that can change a heart,
From a single listen.
Will elegance be the same as when receiving it when letting go?
Structures that become obstacles for people to see,
These hindrances slowly piece away the time,
For comprehension between you and me,
And then leaves many with the question:
“What do you see?”
Beyond this face of reason,
And across this state of conclusion,
How different am I from those winged beings?
We see like we see in pictures,
We hear to understand like words once spoken,
We feel yet not to anyone’s complete understanding,
So what different are we?
Like angels that have fallen bringing darkness and dispute,
The shadow comes clear and sharp,
Even more vivid than the light,
The beautiful clarity of black,
And its alluring absence.
Far wider than sleeping,
No one can stop one from doing,
There is no holding back from choosing,
Just previous choices that make the picture to who you are.
They imagine those winged,
Holding the rupture of those needing,
And then someone to rescue from the reeling,
Of what they did not choose.
Who holds what is seeing,
Is there a world beyond the future?
What was the beginning of the past?
Letting the voices you are hearing tell the wonders that don’t last.
Finding what is lost than what I find losing,
The expedition for what should be,
Might always end on what could be,
There is no key to the world,
For every door in front of you,
And yet we search for such a thing,
These entities fly across,
Hoping to be recognized,
Yet afraid to be caught,
Beyond your own dimensions,
Further than all nations,
Looking from the far star light,
Without ever looking back.
So far to see them we tend to ignore them,
But it’s not one way does this length intervene,
It is in both ways we do not see.
If Actions really speak,
Then Seeing is also listening.
If there are millions of feathers,
Used to defy gravity,
So does it takes a million of tragedies,
To defy reality.
It makes me happy to have no wings at all,
To feel the ground beneath me,
Knowing the end of my fall.