The Silent Sword

(April 2,1997)

White Crow


Thieving autumn air
Strips naked a tree,
Leaving it not with
Any such leaves.
Leaves and branches
Once grew together.
Clothing the branches:
Obsidian feathers.

Perched upon the highest branch:
A feather of Pearl.

Dark Feathers flutter and flap
In a black frenzy of furious flame.
Feather of Pearl upon the peak,
Painted and pierced by pools of pain.

Here, Feathers are blood stained.

From a word,
the shingled weather
storms the sky with endeavors.

From the Bird,
a single feather
so pure and proud falls to nether.

It lies on the ground until picked up and
Thought of
As the feather of a dove.

Submitted: Saturday, March 30, 2013
Edited: Saturday, August 17, 2013

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  • Sandy Player (4/7/2013 5:08:00 PM)

    Here, feathers are blood stained-it works wonderfully in the poem; a note to us strangers who do not understand about this place you named here. The end is quite thought-provoking too. The word obsidian, though it has such a beautiful alien-esque sound to it, is sadly overused nowadays and personally I would avoid it. All stuff considered, a worthwhile read.
    -SP (Report) Reply

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