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[Narrator:]
A bird once flew with joy, chasing the horizon.
But the sky grew heavy, and his wings grew tired.
One evening, he fell by the quiet sea.
A young girl found him, her hands full of dreams.

She knelt by his side and asked:

[The Girl:]
I found you trembling near the dreaming tide,
Your feathers torn as though the heavens cried.
Tell me, worn traveler, where have you flown?
What hunger drove you past the worlds you’ve known?

[The Bird:]
I chased the rim where fire and heavens kiss,
A line of gold no hand can ever miss.
I sang to suns, I danced where eagles dared,
I broke my heart on dreams that never cared.

I rose, I fell, I rose again and bled,
Until the winds unwove the life I led.
The sky, sweet child, is vast, but it forgets;
It makes no grave for those it once begets.

The sky is not a temple, but a field of knives.
The stars you seek will teach you how hope dies.
To fly is to wager all you are and own,
And to be forgotten even by the stone.

Freedom is a flame that eats its own,
A summit where the winds strip flesh from bone.
Dreams build their monuments from broken wings;
Songs leave behind the silence that they bring.

[The Girl:]
I hear the hollow echo in your song,
The mourning stitched between the bright and wrong.
Your wings are altars where the old prayers bled;
Your eyes, a ledger of the tears you’ve shed.

Yet if this is the price that freedom claims,
If every flight must carve itself in flames,
Then I will pay with all I have and more.
Better to burn than to be chained ashore.

[The Bird:]
Bold soul, you walk the edge where light falls blind;
You court the storm that cracks the clearest mind.
I too once roared against the tethered clay,
Believing wings could tear the night away.

But listen:
Not every fall redeems the climb.
Not every song survives the mouth of time.
To dream is to accept both birth and grave,
To build, to lose, to give what none can save.

[The Girl:]
Still would I leap, though cliffs erase my name;
Still would I sing, though silence be my claim.
Let it be said: she lived, and she was free
And when the end came, she did not flee.

If dreams devour, let them feast on me whole;
If stars betray, still shall I bless my soul.
Better to vanish in a sky of flame,
Than bear a life untouched by any name.

[The Bird:]
Then fly, fierce child, into the ruthless blue;
Let winds unmake you, they will make you true.
The sky is cruel but it remembers one:
The heart that dares to burn brighter than the sun.
This poem is a metaphorical tale about a young woman challenging the weight of social traditions and limitations, choosing the perilous beauty of freedom over the safety of conformity.
Hafren Apr 15
I’ve been trying to flutter away
From that beautiful smile which shone brighter
Than anything I had ever envisioned
I’ve been trying to flutter away
Because I know if I try hard enough
My wings will become larger and majestic
And my name, written amongst the stars
Staggering, tumbling and quivering
Like a small dove riding against a windstorm
I’ve been trying to flutter away
Today my heart beats relentlessly quick
As if begging me to falter and realize
I’ll never get near the sun without melting away

As much as I try, the cyclone vows to break me apart
Spilling my feathers around a world of longing and craving
As of now, I still can’t fly so high
However, I’m not like Icarus
My wings aren’t frail and made of wax
I’ve been trying to flutter away
Eventually I’ll reach the sun
And the day when my memories spent
Alongside your beautiful smile
Which I still love and cherish
Will become just a warm and gentle breeze
Of the past
Arii Mar 27
I wander across a silent land
As a miserably lonely man
Following the call of
An early morning bird

With nothing in my head,
And nothing in my hands

The bird, in all its morning cheer
Chirps and trills for all to hear
It sings even though there is no crowd,
Its song is as magnificent as it is loud

It holds its head up, proud and high,
It looks up daringly at the sky,
Like the clouds are challenging it
To fly

It leaves the branch it rested on
Wings spreading as it took off
And I still remain a lonely wight,
But maybe I, too, can take flight.
neth jones Mar 28
lunch break  fire escape                  
   seagulls hover  far below              
rattled  by stern winds          
  thoughts battle  their own nature    
no progress  in their flight      
.
tanka style
original notes :my high perch on ninth /fire escape /the backs of gulls below /flight   rattled with wind /no forward progress in flight
Lostling Mar 15
As a child I wondered what it'd be like to be an angel
Soaring through the heavens on white feathers, playing golden harps in tune with the whistling of the wind.

And so I stepped onto flightless wings and let their hands guide me to the skies.
I looked up,
Up to where the the clouds floated
Where the winds lifted my hair with mischief and whispered songs of freedom
Where the ground was but a memory miles away
Where my fingertips felt like they could touch the infinite blue

...

Now, as I fall, I think mournfully to myself
What a childish dream it was, to think I could ever leave the shackles of the ground

And yet...
And yet
I find myself 10 again
Waiting for the next brush of heaven
Written on a swing.
Arii Mar 13
I always loved the sky.
From its bright sunny blues in the morn’
To its oranges in the evening
To its pinks at early dawn

To the warmth of the sun
To the cool of the rain
To the thunder in the distance
To the snow and the hail

To the fluffy clouds in the day
And stars that shine at night
To the moon and the planets I
Couldn’t reach if I tried.

I always loved the sky.
For I could always become a part of it.
The night is born prematurely,
Becoming one in blistering winds,
The dark crawls,

And the snow falls.

The gallant wings of beauty,
Besieged by winter's bellows,
Left to death as the crow calls,

And the snow falls.

The lonesome oaks tremble,
Bare in the white of creeping cold,
Creaking as they are raked by squalls,

And the snow falls.
Not a lot today.
Vianne Lior Feb 20
Winged thing,
bruised blueprint,
longing inked into bone—
how does the sky taste
when you flee instead of follow?

I have seen you—
a breath stolen mid-exhale,
a contradiction unraveling,
a hymn hummed through clenched teeth.
you call it survival.
I call it the ache of knowing
you were never meant to land.

what is wisdom
but a body fluent in exile,
a home that never stays?

tell me—
when the air stills,
when silence sutures your shadow to the dirt,
will you miss the flight,
or
only the myth of almost arriving?

Emery Feine Feb 10
You look at me in disappointment,
yet you have crushed my wings.
You are now furious at me,
now that I cannot fly.
"No bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings."
Fantasy, the kind you dream,
_.
In a world where all comes true,
_.
Just like a story book,
_.
Floating, flying, hovering,
_.
Everything is good,
_.
Half a poem, all the weight of a full one.
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