Feb 07, 2010 09:50
Your feathers are a
crown of thorns upon your head.
Nothing and everything
a symbol of who you are
and who you can no longer be.
Your feathers leave
a multitude of colours upon
the floor when you shed the masks
and costumes we've all become
so accustomed to.
Your feathers separate
you from me and me from you
in a manner your scars cannot
and never will. I am not of
your flock and never can be.
Your feathers will fall like snow on
the morning I don't succeed in finding you.
No longer preening, there is nothing more,
nothing less, than a crown of
feathered thorns in your place.
brigits_flame,
birds of a feather,
poetry