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 Page: Profile: Poetry   Total Views: 10,242,968  

Poem Specs

VxPoem ID: 29027


Posted: June 20th. 2007 8:22:28 AM

Views: 880

The Nightingale’s Flight

by Widdershins

Age Group: Adult

The Moon’s lover

The sheepish glow set loose beneath the Moon… setting:
the patient waver of sprinkled clouds…
the soft, safe arms of the land holding close
the beams that shine, the night’s smile they are
the points and dots of expressing a soft love—
emotion-burdened, landscape eyes
the silent testimony – but truly? only the nightingale testifies…


But in the wake of the loving touch of stars,
comes some mystery floating in the dust
mingled between their cold shine and in every line…
some black torrent that disturbs the soul,
and is only seen by the meditative eye…


The nightingale batted its wings through
rifting black matter, making the crumbs of
darkened light scatter and hide
the next little piece of an unshadowed life…
the only shade that the nightingale’s song cannot
phase, is the shadow of an evil man’s ways
but the little bird sadly knows,
that even the twisted meditate…


Excitement shocks through the first steps out,
the adventure opens its red eyes wide, to see
every challenge-to-be… mapped… laid out…
and every crunch of gravel could betray the sweet
nightingale’s sound, and the kings
in their dining halls will hear the weeping dead,
and they will pass through the enigma without a sound,
the women will die knowing they weren’t seen…
and the children will rest still not knowing their dreams,
and all packed into a little crunch…
which will launch temporal reality to lurch and save
the last dying wave of music
that kept a whole world going around…

Musical dots

In the painted sand that sifts through each beat
the nightingale sings only to the swaying spring trees
by the woods and in the shadows, sounds hiding
from the gentle, exposing and warming sunlight…
they flee to dots of forest moss, riddled with the endless sparkle
and watch the dancing darkness on each point, controlled
by the puppeteer trees, moved to emotional moments
by the soft and free breeze… the nightingale sings
through this day, watching each moment fade away…
the nightingale only sings of the moments that come
all supposedly the mark of some change, the
bird who flies through air and the substance of dreams,
knows better than anyone who walks, stands or runs…
from above, it looks all the same, the sad moments
are dancing to the love song of happiness,
and the darkness kisses light gently on the cheek…

Musty books

The folds reveal silent secrets… happiness
in the quiet, and love in the dark… sadness? they’re all there
each time brought back by a mere set of lines,
the nightingale springs out from the dark rows,
bursting the silence into nonexistence, in a place
where after a short time… no one even tries,
to recollect what it used to be like…


As the time ticks, so the tap drips
the mystery hour draws the haunted near
licks the wounds clean to reveal fresh layers of
the surreal… the feel of feather and of water intertwined—
and the moments where you face the shadow in your eyes,
the drip of honeyed truth that marks every silent scream,
it’s the secret that no one would ever like to see…
its so sweet, it loftily calls, yes it calls sweetly…


Glorious in no day, but only at night
silky was the dark, warm air filled with such things
that terrify… the nightingale has stopped singing
just for a moment, letting the predator pass…
the shadow in honest eyes has disappeared at last,
and the graying moments put a painful end
to the wondrous ticks of peace,
the silent trains still pass, but with new and massive stress
as each heart sorely tries to shut away the night’s caress,
and the night folds its wings sleepily, cringing away
from the last moments before all is washed in dull gray,
letting the sweet summer sun creep up the hill
and pierce the land with color and form…
desires die down, almost sulkily…
the Moon’s lover bade the Silver Lady goodnight and took flight
on the last nightingale’s wings, flying away
to do so many more important things,
now only the Sun gazes with scrutiny at what the night had wrought
setting right the little straightened edges left behind by the night,
his kingdom woke from their snooze…
and chased away the nightingale to a soft landing far away…


Somewhere, the dark desires that are only set free
in the mysterious and unreal kingdom of dreams,
they live on, waiting for the moment to come again
when, in the shadows, they may be set free…
in the secrecy of its dark peace,
where none ask what they could be…

The Sun’s lover

The daring blinding light set loose beneath the Sun… setting:
the fierce red, orange cast over a hazy blue…
the passionate embrace of day, holding near everything
the rays that blind, the Sun’s smile they be
the silent yet raging storm that is the Lord’s dignified affection—
encumbered with emotion, landscape eyes
the quiet testimony – but truly? still,
only the nightingale testifies…

April 22, 2007

Author's Location: Szeged, Hungary
More Poems: Widdershins has posted 234 additional poems- View them?
Author's Profile: To learn more about Widdershins - Click HERE
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