A dove flies towards the sun,
Disappearing with the light of the east,
In the soft light of morn, defined,
In the blackness of night, neither bird nor beast.
And with its flight, does it bring hope to these lands?
It seems to fly with such strength,
To feed those whose hands outstretch,
Hungry from loss and sorrow.
To where dead spirits wallow, it flies,
Where no longer shine blue skies,
Where darkness reigns throughout;
Where the sun scorches life, in drought;
Here the dove spreads its wings;
Here, in the quiet of grief, it sings.
Bring forth your weary eyes!
No longer must the children cry!
Where love seems departed from all lips,
Here the dove in rescue dips,
Spreading a light which few men see;
A light which rescues all from grief,
Changing brute to beauty, slave to free.
A contest entry
- handful of feathers by exalted.
1750 points, ended May 27, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I'm glad someone wrote about doves, I think they're beautiful birds. And you have some beautiful images here... the symbol of the dove as hope, love, beauty, and light. Nicely done!
The rhyme is pretty good, which is an achievement in itself. The one place that was awkward was "where no longer shine blue skies"-- sometimes inverted lines mess up the flow.
Thanks for the entry,
-cassidy
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