Yet the fog shall rise, and many blackened wings shall wane

To light upon branch and twig yet not to rest,
but into silence-
feathers unfed from wind,
wings hemmed in the stillness of mist and water;
soft, rippling waves search
for the shore where languid pleasure fades.

In the midday, perhaps, one lust, one dream-
to fly,
for small voices to be heard stringing through
the fog,
bend ye wings on these, on hopes. …
or shall we sate obedient.

Yet (surely) the fog shall rise, and many blackened
wings shall wane. …
soon, crowned with grey feathers,
and cold wind with icy fingers-
thrusting a hand before the lifted flight
(if thus it be, in a drop of time).

Copyright © 04/08/2016 lance sheridan®

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5 comments on “Yet the fog shall rise, and many blackened wings shall wane

  1. Fantastic images painting a canvas of a dismal season of life trying to get the strength to go forward – this is fantastic!

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