When Dust Becomes a Bird

There are places

that can never be trasversed

There are ideas

that can never be spoken

There are emotions

that can never be expressed

 

directly.

 

But every moment is a passing, 

fleeting bird

That soars and swoops

and twirls

 

And when it seems all that's left

is a speck of dust

in a dust-filled sky

 

We know 

that moment

has forever passed us by

 

But there will be countless moments

For what is lost, 

shall always be gained

 

And if a moment

could be captured

conquered, even

 

Then we know

that speck of dust

is indeed

a bird

 

A bird that soars, flies

and twirls

 

A bird that caws, tweets

and sings

 

A bird that scares at the slightest sound

That flaps its wings

at strange shadows

on the ground

 

But we know

that it is a bird

even if

it looks like dust

 

And for one, just one

to call that bird to them

to have that bird perch 

on their arm

 

That, in essence

is closer 

than dust

in dust-filled skies

 

is more tangible 

than sounds

 

is more a part of that one

than anything else

 

for when one has called the bird

and the bird comes

 

A bond forms between them

an unbreakable bond

that surrounds them

ties them

makes it 

impossible

to ever separate again

 

except when the time comes

and the bird must fly

and the one who called

must say goodbye

 

but we know

that it will come back

and never again

entirely

be 

dust

in a dust-filled sky.

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