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




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 


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




in a dust-filled sky.


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