The Sound of Ink

With the pity of seagulls this human rock flew a puppet’s journey where mist swallows marsh. In the birdsong of capture I felt gravity’s war with sky. Through palms clutching air the wind read my fortune… Your wings are feathers of ink. If you wish to soar the heavens, don’t build a cage with empty pages. ©Susie Clevenger 2020 Sunday Muse #89

Tree limbs decorated with brown leaves write their ode to change on the moon in autumn’s calligraphy. Today and tomorrow sit on owl feathers waiting for midnight to slip one into history while the other gracefully relinquishes its crown of future. I feel the weight of inevitable lift from my spirit as I surrender to my own metamorphosis. The starlight song of ancestors plays as I write a new chorus. ©Susie Clevenger 2019 Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Change