The Inked Dove

Obliteration

Born from the wind itself,
Light and small as a feather,
Tender as a beautiful floweret,
Hopeful as a piece of heaven itself,
As it shoots across the dark of the night,
Unfolding the beauty of the bloom,
As though it comes from a parallel universe.

But may I beg to differ?
Is the wind not strong enough,
To create the most terrifying of storms?
Or when the time of the tender floweret has come,
As it wilts and droops,
In its own melancholical song of beauty?
Or as the piece of heaven in all its beauty,
Strikes the land creating the biggest of all destructions?

It comes as a carriage itself,
So normal in the way of casualty,
Or as it's magnificent wings unfold,
To engulf that little feather,
Just to make it another part of,
Those beautiful means of flight for it,
So it can soar over the skies,
Only to find another feather,
Just as beautiful and tender as this one.

Maybe a floweret more enticing than this,
Maybe a feather more enamouring than this,
Maybe even a simple ordinary glow,
Or something just as common as the others?
But does it all make sense,
If there isn't a better engulfing darkness,
To make its beauty much more endearing?

A/N This poem basically shows the cruelty and the beauty of death.These are two words that do not go together.Yet have you ever thought,what the meaning of life would be,if it lasted for eternity?Because although death brings us great sorrow,it is one of the most important aspects of life that makes us human.And in every ounce of beauty in this world,there is also a shade of darkness that makes it more beautiful.

I dedicate this poem to my best friend,wordalmaniac...You inspire me,and you bring out the best of me on my worst days.I love you.