On wings of mo(u)rning
she flew in from infinity
turning circles of eight
in a restless sky.
Rays of hope filtered through
her feathered rustlings
but,
there is no escape
when destiny calls.
The soul awaited
aware
it was soon to be their time
No-one saw the raven arrive
except the one for whom she came.
With a swift downward rush
she swooped below to where
the soul was reaching up to greet.
Gathered all around the bed
emotional… people cried
The spiritual raven’s wings enfolded
as the soul gave out one final gasp
then, smiled
Its light now free at last
and for those that remained was the
‘why’
~*~
© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved
*For some reason the painting reminded me of a black bird’s feathers, either a crow, raven, or some such. It also made me think of feathers we see laying on the ground and wonder how they come to be there. Also, in some cultures how they are seen as ill omens and symbols of death arriving. I wanted to write about that but, not in a sad way because (to some) death can be a happy release too. So, I wanted to show the bird as a good thing, not bad.
Shared with Magpie Tales #127 Abstract Art of Franz Kiline Figure eight, 1952
Poets United Pantry #107
