Birds Wings

Where we might fall as gentle as leaves
Being hurried by the stillness of morning.
Breathing life into the dying trees as they fade into the winter sky the same color as.
Where sunlight melts us into our shadows and the forms that we are shading the path that we walk on.
Following us Searching.
Where the seasons of our souls are ever changing as the words within our voices and the paper that we write on. And we light our secrets on fire writing down every one.
Where color helps us to define the lines and spaces
Of the universe in all its vast creation.
And the stars leave their little bits and traces of the hopes and dreams that we’ve all wished apon.
Where we might fly gentle on birds wings
Being carried through the sky alive in flight
Following the whims of our tomorrow’s
Remembering the days of all our nights
Where today we look to tomorrow
And remember yesterday.
And tomorrow will be hurried
Lost will be today.
Gentle like the leaves.
Floating from the tree.
Such as the seasons of our lives.
Of those who fly
On birds wings.

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