A bird flying <br />Is a flight in self. <br /> <br />Motion. <br /> <br />It is a movement <br />In self and <br />Inward. <br /> <br />It is a cry, too. <br /> <br />I hunt the sound. <br />I shoot its wing. <br />I feel that <br />The air fractures. <br />Immediately. <br />The flight is fractured. <br /> <br />I still love you. <br />For sure, for sure, I still love you. <br />The feeling slips <br />In the place, <br />From where the white bird fell <br /> <br />From the moment <br />To the eternity. <br /> <br />In that place, <br />I thought <br />To bear your name <br /> <br />It remains <br /> <br />As a red spot on the <br />Blue sky, <br />A spot, which could be white. <br /> <br />Forever. <br /> <br />Between eyelids, <br />Only pain <br />Can be crushed, <br />Continuously, <br />That pain taking another pain <br />From the agony of death <br />To death. <br /> <br />Between saints, only <br />God has <br />Perfect feelings. <br />He has our feelings, too. <br /> <br />Imperfect. <br /> <br />We try <br />To touch Him.<br /><br />Marieta Maglas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flight-54/
