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Rated: E · Poetry · Supernatural · #2119762
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...
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