Sparrow's Flight

[tectak]

Behold, a forest, in a setting natural and sweet,archaic anyway, but would be out of place in ANY piece. Behold, behold.Over poetic encumbrance.
Behold, a tree, bearing fruit for birds to eat.

Within this tree a chick may feel at rest,
For within this tree is no reason to leave the nest.
For beyond that tree is fear, an unknown quest. I only hear the rhymes echoing down the page. Try NOT to rhyme and see what happens...you might like it

Food and warmth is here supplied, cold and hunger there descried. Where? Here or there? And the use of "descried" is a little dodgy...but what the hell, it rhymes

The young bird watched the others—he is a sparrow
—Yes, and some of them do fly the straight and narrow,
But others, how they plummet! And the bird is harrowed. I cannot actually read this without reaching for my anti-Vogon combined spectacles and enema kit.You are adrift on an ocean of emetica. Methinks you try too hard. Let the piece say what it must say by all means, but make it ALL count.

It's so dark out, and the light of fireflies fills the nest with light for his eyes. Try to avoid repeated words...especially in the same sentence

No! He cannot! The drop is far too great.
A mundane life will have to satiate
Fears abounding: flight, food, and mate. What DOES this mean?

Ah, what if I fail, and fall to the ground? Left all alone while my squawks resound. Yes, well, I think you and I have said enough. I for my part, have read enough. No more comments 'til the end.( I had to stop myself rhyming here)

Harken the hawk as he sails by to find a meal!
The sparrow's brother disappears in the dark.
The flightless young bird gulped up in one squeal,
Then comes morning and the mourning of a lark.

The sparrow is petrified, rooted to his place,
For although he can fly, he fears the empty space
Where unknown values assail and assault
Yet no place is safe of branch nor of vault!

What has he to do, when all his life's dreaming
Has proven to fail him, time and time again,
Pitying himself, the sparrow seeks meaning;
What joy is there in the life of sparrow or hen?

The one eaten by hawk, the other by man; for all things with feathers, Death has his plan.

Why, there is no safety
There for me
In any tree
My destiny
Is fiercely
Closing in on me.
And all I can see,
Is misery
In every
Gully
Valley
Alley
And date tree...

And the sparrow spirals to the brink of despair,
That clichéd cliff of bottomless airs,
Doubting his ability to find peace even there,
Falling aimlessly, beyond all snares.

Behold, a light arising in the forest!
Behold, the jubilee of avian chorus!
The sunrise reveals the beauty of nature,
And the sparrow is enthralled and enraptured.

Then he sees his fear, in human form, there by the tree, somehow forlorn.

Oh no, it's a hunter! Says the bird to himself,
Fearing for the sake of his hide,
All that man wants from me is pelf! AAAAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHH! I cannot let this go! PELF? PELF? Money purloined from a SPARROW? What is the going rate for sparrow...er....hide? Sorry, but this is where you must draw the rhyming to an end. It will make you go potty as you use it such a lotty.
The sparrow quietly abides.

The man looks up, and without any harm,
Asks the sparrow what became of his charm;
For I come every morning for the joy of your song!
I promise you sparrow, I don't mean any wrong.

The small bird chokes up with tears, overjoyed; then sings his song and the very air is cloyed.

The man closes his eyes, relaxing in simple bliss,
And asks the bird to come down so he may hear better.
The sparrow, fearful, lets out a single hiss,
No better than a hawk are you, bloodletter!

The man is pained; he asks for understanding
No sparrow is food; it is deer that he's demanding.
Only venison is enough to be worth the eating.

Aye, but you eat hen and turkey! The bird exclaims,
If I was but larger, your arrow would slay me!
Or with your terrible booming thing of pain,
Would I be worth more than a place in your pantry?

The man nods, and draws a line in the dirt, tearful at the words, and oh, how they hurt.

With sobs in his voice, he plainly declares:
Some animals are predators, and some are prey.
I know, sparrow, it does seem so unfair!
But for the sake of balance, it's the only way.


I'm so sorry for the mess of this that humans have made,
I cannot stop the duck hunters with their whistles in glade,
I can only hunt peacefully with my bow and with my blade.
For I recognize the need for the silence of a shade,
For I recognize the meed of the silence of a raid,
And no, it isn't right, but in that I don't delight;
Sparrow, I hunt for I need food, of which you are not made:
I appreciate you for your song, it's why I come here every day.
Please, try to understand why here my hand is stayed.
You will never perish by my bow, you will never perish by my blade.

The sparrow, without thought, steps out into thin air,
Oh, how all seems bleak as he starts to fall!
Catch yourself! Spread your wings out there!
And he does; gliding through the canopied halls.

The bowers overhead glowing green as with energy,
The flowers in their beds showing sheens, pure beauty;
The dour and misled Sparrow gleaming in synergy.
The hours flowing by, evermore carefree.

He floats back in graceful arcs with levity of heart.

The hunter's shoulder serves as the Sparrow's perch;
Peacefully, with meaning, the bird begins to sing.
The hunter digs his toes into the cool dirt,
And listens, just listens, to the story this bird brings.

Oh young hunter, how I, also being young, so failed to fulfill
The fullness of being I had in my Maker's will;
I never knew the simple joy and the heartfelt thrill
Of the rushing air, the complete view, the fiery wheel,
As I glide through this dream, this life, fretting not for meal
Nor drink, for these things have been provided; I may seal
The worries deep inside, for now I understand the truth: I may feel
Entirely at peace, entire serenity, in the richness of my life and zeal
Nevermore, as quoth the raven, nevermore shall I deal
In the fear of every night and of every thunder peal;
There is more to life than fear, within I have reached this deal:
Lay to rest the darkness, leave my nest behind, elsewise it would steal
The very joy I have as a bird, so available to me, limitless and real
You see, I find joy in rosewater and worms as to you is wine and veal,
And someday I will die, as must we all, by some force of nature killed;
I shall worry not till then, and just enjoy what I have until
I am called to Heaven, or Oblivion, it matters not, either way will
Bring me to peace, return me to the soil, that final splendid spill.
Thank you, dear hunter! I am off to view beach and mill.
Keep this feather in your hat, as though Yankee Doodle was on this hill,
For I am off to savor the bounty of being of which this life is filled!

The hunter, crying freely, took a feather,
And stored it under his hat, safe in any weather.
He softly pet the back of the tiny bird,
As the creature fluttered off, without another word.

Oh, this richness that surrounds me! How it does elide!
What craven man am I to so deny this life?
If I but enjoy the moment, like the Sparrow does abide
In the beauty of the day, come storm or strife!

Hi,
You have seriously overstretched this piece in all possible directions and in some I did not think possible. I read it but thankfully cannot remember anything about it
You rhyme like a maniac with a penchant for echo chambers...it all just gets too much.
Try to shorten EVERY specific thought and avoid strangled english for the sake of the rhyme. Basically, you got lost in an ocean of alphabet soup...and DO stop capitalising every line. It is just SO retro that one could believe it only ever substituted for flaky grammar...which is not the case with you...is it?
Read more poetry post 1850.
Best,
tectak