Peter Levy
Peter Levy Poems
The owl has made its move
In splendor, as is fresh death
A peaceful rest for broken wings
That yearn no more for breath.
...
Life is sold, and love is bought
I am the blame
And I weep into my constant thought
Of that, that has no name.
...
“The rains have not come again” he moaned
His eyes frozen to the skies
He wiped his brow with some oily rag
And steeled his face disguise.
...
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Songwriter/poet)
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The Owl
The owl has made its move
In splendor, as is fresh death
A peaceful rest for broken wings
That yearn no more for breath.
How soon, I wonder, shall they come
To triumph and then claim their own
This perfect form that lived beyond
Whatever now makes there its home.
I too took a magic feather
For reasons I don’t know quite why
As if to somehow share in nature
Or keep alive some things that die.
Why this need after life’s debt comes due
Who cares about the owl, or me, or you.
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5/5/2024 11:30:36 AM # 1.0.0.1119
