The Wise Wingless Owl
POETRY FORMAT, 4 Jul 2022
He sat perched so everyone could see.
Unmoving, but called king of the night.
Only God could create that amazing yellow eyesight.
Without a wing, he silently stares.
Unable to fly.
With all his wisdom,
He is sullen and solemn.
Cos his wing has fallen…in a dark way.
He watches the dull clouds go by.
No wing, his flesh must want to tremble.
His mind and soul may want to crumble.
Perhaps he is hiding his tears!
Surely, he has nightmares and despairs.
Unable to fly…out in the perfumed sky
He must be aching to fly.
All I feel is distress
And rub my eye.
Why can’t I fly?
What counsel can I give you?
A hunter’s heart is like thunder.
In his eyes, you are just plunder.
You are God’s wonder
Wise, wingless, robbed of flight.
It’s a horrible sight.
This article originally appeared on Transcend Media Service (TMS) on 4 Jul 2022.
Anticopyright: Editorials and articles originated on TMS may be freely reprinted, disseminated, translated and used as background material, provided an acknowledgement and link to the source, TMS: The Wise Wingless Owl, is included. Thank you.
This work is licensed under a CC BY-NC 4.0 License.