06-07-2017, 12:37 PM
Fifth Edit:
Dying Swan
One wing dangled, but not as exposed
as what was beneath the words
I said when our bodies
first pressed together and I noticed
you had already closed your eyes.
The other wing open, seeks elevation,
reminds me of my failed apology,
our listless kiss goodbye.
I imagine its mate flies alone
towards a cold sunset.
Fourth Edit:
Dying Swan
One wing mangled, but not as exposed
as those words I said when our bodies
first pressed together and I noticed
you had already closed your eyes.
The other wing open, begging for elevation,
reminds me of my failed apology,
our listless kiss goodbye.
I envision its mate, flying alone
towards a cold sunset.
Third Edit:
Dying Swan
One wing mangled,
but not as exposed
as those words I said when our bodies
first pressed together and I noticed
you had already closed your eyes.
The other wing open,
begging for elevation,
reminds me of my failed apology,
your goodbye listless like our first kiss.
I envision its mate,
flying alone towards a cold sunset.
Second Edit:
Dying Swan
One wing mangled,
but not as brutal
as those words I said when our naked bodies
first pressed together and I noticed
you had already closed your eyes.
The other wing open,
begging for elevation,
reminds me of my failed apology.
The word sorry a lost feather
swept away by an autumn wind.
I'm then compelled to envision its mate,
flying away alone.
But I am not that abandoned swan.
First Edit:
The Swans in Wentworth Park
One wing bloodied, mangled;
its exposed bones a different white than the rest.
The other wing open,
begging the breeze for elevation,
but its feathers are denied
the blue of the sky.
The indifferent ground
only offers support through happenstance,
while I
can't look away.
I make eye contact
and I'm compelled to envision its mate,
flying away alone.
Its heartbreak more potent than my own dreams.
Original:
The Swans in Wentworth Park
Webbed feet
firmly on the ground.
Feathers denied
the blue of the sky.
One wing open,
begging the breeze for elevation.
The other wing lifeless:
bloodied and mangled.
Its eyes look desperate,
while its mate
flies away,
soaring
higher than a dream.
Dying Swan
One wing dangled, but not as exposed
as what was beneath the words
I said when our bodies
first pressed together and I noticed
you had already closed your eyes.
The other wing open, seeks elevation,
reminds me of my failed apology,
our listless kiss goodbye.
I imagine its mate flies alone
towards a cold sunset.
Fourth Edit:
Dying Swan
One wing mangled, but not as exposed
as those words I said when our bodies
first pressed together and I noticed
you had already closed your eyes.
The other wing open, begging for elevation,
reminds me of my failed apology,
our listless kiss goodbye.
I envision its mate, flying alone
towards a cold sunset.
Third Edit:
Dying Swan
One wing mangled,
but not as exposed
as those words I said when our bodies
first pressed together and I noticed
you had already closed your eyes.
The other wing open,
begging for elevation,
reminds me of my failed apology,
your goodbye listless like our first kiss.
I envision its mate,
flying alone towards a cold sunset.
Second Edit:
Dying Swan
One wing mangled,
but not as brutal
as those words I said when our naked bodies
first pressed together and I noticed
you had already closed your eyes.
The other wing open,
begging for elevation,
reminds me of my failed apology.
The word sorry a lost feather
swept away by an autumn wind.
I'm then compelled to envision its mate,
flying away alone.
But I am not that abandoned swan.
First Edit:
The Swans in Wentworth Park
One wing bloodied, mangled;
its exposed bones a different white than the rest.
The other wing open,
begging the breeze for elevation,
but its feathers are denied
the blue of the sky.
The indifferent ground
only offers support through happenstance,
while I
can't look away.
I make eye contact
and I'm compelled to envision its mate,
flying away alone.
Its heartbreak more potent than my own dreams.
Original:
The Swans in Wentworth Park
Webbed feet
firmly on the ground.
Feathers denied
the blue of the sky.
One wing open,
begging the breeze for elevation.
The other wing lifeless:
bloodied and mangled.
Its eyes look desperate,
while its mate
flies away,
soaring
higher than a dream.