Feather

It flew in through the window
while in a probable nostalgia you wallow.
It was a proud crimson delegate
of beauty so presently delicate.

You began to carry it around,
the lucky charm that caught you spellbound.
Because of how bright
it seemed, how light

it felt. Esteemed with prideful exuberance
it was worn upon your chest, brought to a dance,
pinned up on walls like a masterpiece.
You could never picture it stained with grease.

Yet you came to realise its mere blood red
and sensual passion could pronounce you dead.
After all, doomsdays are weightless —
so is the grace of an unwanted carcass.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s