The Dove

The first thing you hear is the flapping-
faint flapping floating overhead.
A tiny white speck in the distance amidst a white sky-
white wings and winds seamlessly in sync.
The bright white sears the naked eye looking for hope,
yet it stares longingly outward, reaching and pulling,
pulling and reaching.

It’s easy to forget how arctic white wind is.
It freezes and storms
Scarring scared men and animals.
The very foundations and pillars shake from the medium-
the vessel of peace. Still however the naked eye looking
stares longingly outward, reaching and pulling,
pulling and reaching.

More white wind, more chill scars the celestial abode
and the sea rages.
Mother earth is enraged she has lost life-
In fury attempts to swallow the remainder- the witnesses
She has abandoned life and must reject.
The very foundations of man shake from former lifeblood.
Their home is no longer their home, yet still amidst the storming
Eyes stare longingly outward, reaching and pulling,
pulling and reaching.

Finally, when man has given up-
When the storm calms and he rests on broken pillars,
The white winds bring the shining white dove,
Faint olive branch freshly pluck’d.
A vigor invigorated- a life relived,
The time of new beginnings comes from tiny new life in beak’d lip.
The branch only to grow to forests and orchids of peace-
Brought from white wind and open ocean.