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Of Motes and Dust

Poetry By: I try

My first poem.

Submitted:Jun 27, 2012    Reads: 6    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

Transparent waifs afloat in bars of light

Glow and sink from apparent weight.

Invisible in dark, bright in sight

From the majority each mote has strayed.

The golden sparks tend to collect

In places of residence without invite,

Yet exist in a place where none object

Rather expect wandering shards in flight.

A place of warm sighed breathes

Steady, patient, content in rest,

Where tails sweep in pendulum swathes

Lethargy hangs from drooped lids in duress.

Freedom, liberty, power innate

Beings lacking master at day

Return infallibly at night

To be boxed in nests of hay.

Is it shameful to feel relief

That beasts so free surrender to be penned

And flying motes in their belief

Consent with gravity to descend?

When I am a singular waif

Struggling against the routine,

Am I allowed without distaste

Of failure to yield, plummet, and careen?


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