As the Crows Fly

As the Crows Fly
A Vagabond Collection Post

The abandoned child hides in 
twisted knots of disquietude 
full of shadows, bowing 
and does cave, weakened 
with fearful apprehension.

Pitched against the cold, the voiceless,
downstream after the rapids 
rock juts and rough currents
orphaned, a shadow 
in the shadows of hushed desperation.

The bitter winds unrepentant 
the child laid guilty without a crime
never even knowing a crew, boom, mast or rudder
blindly struggling to etch a safe niche to nest and sow.

And with whom to share the forge?
no velvety fur to warm the den
empty of that soul-hearted embrace 
surviving the physical realm 
blanket-less on the cold-hearted ground.

In the evaporating equanimity
amidst such tense fragility
growing only a hunger to flee 
the ceaseless weight
of trampled dreams.

With an unfathomable courage, an ironic strength
a soulful, resilient heart can steer the vessel

to mitigate this existential quandary
and withstand the storms, to eke out a fortitude
to witness fruits of endurance
as the crows fly.

~ namasté, Leah J. 🕊

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