How fleeting does the feather last,
Just floating on its unknown wind blown path?
I’ve always wondered, thought
Is the feather craving freedom
From its short straight road?
Can it feel the push forward-
The twist and turns through Notus’ grasp?
Does a feather ever just want to float,
To relax on its quilled back,
Enjoy the sky, the sun, the blue-ness of the world?
If so I imagine the feather a deviant-
A rebel stuck in a rut.
Floating, screaming, wanting off the road,
Only knowing too soon the wind stops
And the feather plummets to hell.
Love to me is like this feather,
Never in control, never choosing,
Just twisting and turning in the blue-ness of the sky.
Only to know it shall fall-
Fall to hell and get stained by grime and soot.
This is my love.
This is my uncontrolled fate,
To love like a feather,
Caressed by the wind-
To know I shall fall
And be ruined by your heart.
How fleeting does the feather last…