Singe

Some singe the strand that binds a bird to emotion riddled dreams.

Doth thou not know that even in love not all is as it seems?

Singe the cord. Still stretched in time, but burning at one end.

Doth thou not know that even in love there is not a cardinal mend?

Some singe a strand, which ties a bird to the heavens in glass dreams.

Doth thou not know that even in love the strand burns right at the seam?

by Felicia Lujan
1.31.18

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Explore posts in the same categories: Body and Mind, Connection, Disconnection, Dreams and Transformations, Love, No Love, Pleasure and Pain, Poetry, Poets, Writers, Writing

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