Two Feathers
Two feathers, gray and pale as autumn haze,
surrender to a listless late spring breeze
and cower in a hot, hard concrete nook.
Who knows what sullen, unseen fluid maze
of wind, or what polluted airy brook
has borne them to this bleak and sterile land
far from the dappled fields and shelt'ring trees?
Two lives, adrift and blown to barren ground,
our fingers tentatively touch, and we
together raise our eyes and look around.
We brace ourselves against the wind and stand
to face this wilderness, defiant, free
to choose our path and bow to no demand,
and know at last what we were meant to be.
Copyright 2004 by Stephen M. Larson
To read further works by Stephen M. Larson, please visit Acoustic Words.
surrender to a listless late spring breeze
and cower in a hot, hard concrete nook.
Who knows what sullen, unseen fluid maze
of wind, or what polluted airy brook
has borne them to this bleak and sterile land
far from the dappled fields and shelt'ring trees?
Two lives, adrift and blown to barren ground,
our fingers tentatively touch, and we
together raise our eyes and look around.
We brace ourselves against the wind and stand
to face this wilderness, defiant, free
to choose our path and bow to no demand,
and know at last what we were meant to be.
Copyright 2004 by Stephen M. Larson
To read further works by Stephen M. Larson, please visit Acoustic Words.
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