Oh, leaping heart, frisky
flitting like birds from
branch to branch, on a primrose path,
never pausing long enough to truly
see the new,
blue wild or hear the lyrics of the brook; her come away tune.
heart, these days, your own song rings hollow, listless,
searching phantom pleasures
while beyond these walls you've built, there's glory.
Fly high, beyond the bounds of rocky confines of mutable moments.
lofty and noiseless, listen to the silence of your desire.
Soar above dry land, dry seasons.
Flight is yours
Rush no more.
Although, the land is safe,
you were born for air.
At Jingle Poetry and The Sunday Whirl