on moonlit pillow

Blue-Flight

On moonlit pillow ere I sleep

Wings of grace rise from the deep

O’er memories rippling through my mind

Swells of emotion intertwined.


A child again, I splash and play

Unaware of skies turned gray

Or shards of rock waiting for my feet

Remains of trusted adult’s defeat.


Innocence subtly weaned away

In each distorted communique.

Marshalling strength, I pushed on

Running a lost child’s marathon.


Now grown, mature I will be

Able of necessity to take care of me.

Yet, in the depths of dreams

Bubbles rise in steady streams.


Then, purest feathers sweep my face

Covering each wounded place.

Looking upon his body, I could see

Scars borne to set me free.


I cried, “Free me from this pain.”

He smiled as peace fell like rain.

“Come fly with me,” He turned to go.

“I have the secret you need to know.”


Then from my slumber I arose

Leaving behind my dirty clothes

The child within adopted new.

Filled with love long overdue.


Adopted-New

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6 thoughts on “on moonlit pillow

  1. Thanks for the very nice poem.
    English is not my language – I am not able to catch all the details in the words written.
    I feel I’m more at home with respect to the imagees. They ars So good. My fauvorite is the last one. The reflections and the composition are perfect.

    • Thank you, Carsten. I wish I spoke Danish.
      Winter is our best time for photographing wildlife. When migration begins then it is easy to find birds, but there are still a few here during the summer. Both of the birds on this post go to a wetland near my home to feed. It is a joy to watch them, especially when they fly.

  2. absolutely beautiful, the words and the picture of this magnificient bird. you pulled together the innocence of wanting so desperately to fly away on the wings of this creator like a fairy tale into the moonlight — nature allows us to revisit our childhoods and to dream of childhoods that wished for — amazing it does not matter how old we get that child is always with us. bkm

    • Thank you, BKM. This poem was born when I thought how like the egret’s feathers are God’s in Psalm 91. It seems I have met so many precious people recently who have carried childhood scars far into adulthood. If only they knew of God’s redemptive love and healing power.

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