Migration

by Dustin S   Nov 5, 2017


A cold November day,
Another leaf may decay.
The colors, they all begin to change,
Summoning winter, autumn fades away.

I gaze above, to see a flock of wild geese,
Late to migration, but early to the feast,
What are these birds, so careless and free?
What are they, representation of me?

They fly in formation, each wing a purpose,
No movement be wasted, no member be worthless.
Synchronic tragectory, beauty in their verses,
Why now do they fly above me, why call for this versus?

As I reflect upon this flock, an idiom shall come,
And speak to me the words I had thought undone:
“For better or for worse, throughout the outcomes,
I forgive you after everything,
For I will always love you Son.”

2


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Latest Comments

  • 2 weeks ago

    by mossgirl19

    Dustin, a lovely poem and I visualize the birds as they fly freely. I felt the sentiments you want to convey too. As ddavid mentioned, 'why call for this versus?' sort of distracted me, and affected the beauty of the piece. Is there a typo in this phrase?

    The piece is a beauty, despite the little thing I have noticed. :-)

  • 2 weeks ago

    by ddavidd

    "why call for this versus"??
    I am not sure either I read this wrong or it is only a typo.
    The poem is very good.
    It asks so many original questions, things only a deep soul could see and ask. Question such as this:
    "What are these birds,...... representation of me?"
    I had these moment of epiphany!! that I felt one with the birds and saw that representation in my soul. I even flew with them a few times.