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On the 'marrow

He stands on the edge of windy cliffs
Where images and shadows seldom blend,
He closed his eyes to sees beyond;
Beyond the whispers and the wind.
 
Then he stretched himself, as if to fly
And began to call to a long lost friend.
So it is, —- that he will  see
To the trees and the river’s bend.
 
Every morning he comes to listen,
But at noon he seeks a shady place,
In the evening there is memories
That drift through time and space.
 
Tomorrow, he shall return
And stand where no-one dares to stand.
Then, again, he will look out there
Toward the trees and the river’s bend.
 
They say he’s crazed for lack of food
That Demons will take him to his end,
But they do not know how this Spirit moves
When he hears the singing of the wind.
 
He knows a time will come upon him
And what is broken will finally mend,
Then he will see the path to take
Beyond the trees and the river’s bend.
 
So when you see the Spirit’s Falcon
Tell him a tale that he has not heard.
Do not mock his vision’s quest
For he is not an earthly bird.
 
He is Falcon, that he is,
He is broken, yet, shall mend.
He will fly —- on the 'morrow,
Beyond the trees and the river’s end.
 
D. Thurmond

(6)

A poem about a wounded bird, or a wounded soul.

#QuestSpirit #River #Vision

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Autres oeuvres par D. Thurmond Aka Jef (James Everett Falcon)...



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