Birth of a Poem

What is this word I offer you?

It is but a feather—

a bit of fluff from the left wing upon my back,

simply a spark of intention,

a poorly shaped thought,

an idea not yet in its optimum form—

but still,

it exists on its own—

beautiful

cherished.

A gift of nature’s muse,

prized when discovered laying about the ground,

leaves upon a doorstep.

Stooping to gather it up,

pressing it between golden edged pages

of a favored journal;

what is its meaning then?

It can develop again upon its discovery—

loved, handled;

this word becoming a phrase;

turning gently in the mind

traveling south

to exist independently in the heart—

a mantra,

chanting itself into being—

pulling onto its very letters the magic dust of creation,

sparkling powder of the universe,

until birthed,

completely formed;

no longer a mere feather,

or even a single wing.

Ready,

now an eager pilot,

enveloped in the full mantle

of sacred flight

the poem is unleashed.

2016 copyright Katie Pifer http://www.witchpetals.wordpress.comf4

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