DESCENDING

Like ebony feathers falling
on a moonless night,
we are drifting,
un-noticed
ever downward,
neither seen , nor heard.

We spin and drift in the darkness,
ever descending, spiraling toward the inevitable.

Silently we pray for a shift in the breeze
to lift us, to prolong this free fall.

Gently we settle to earth,
and there we rest.

Waiting for the next errant wind to lift us up toward heaven
and grant us flight once again.



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