A Native American story about these fleeting birds, ushering souls to the heavens. |
Near is the grief to me for those who fall to shadow, glimpses of the air is seen as dreams of the sparrow, None is said to favor death's haunted whispers of departed, betrayed to embrace the end alone and unguarded, Twilight turns and soon decays surrendered to the peace, diminished of along the way though to never cease, I'm troubled by the compromise less prayers given flight, for those who triumph agonize neither days from welcomed night, Vestige of a morning view naturally adorned, sunlit to, the sparrow flew abandoned, scarred, and scorned, Mortals struck to the ground despite abundant cries, suffering for their sake abounds where sky and distance blind, Hindsight is a thousand miles in closeness made to loom, recusants tended kept from why they're taken much too soon, I trust eternal freedom regret exposed and bare, stirred and labored souls become a sparrows feathered air, Like prisoners the sparrows are condemned to stinted flight, shed across a mourning heart bound in shadows to the night, Souls in darkness rest upon a blackness seen before, severed unions here then gone the sparrow renders evermore... |