The Nature of a Poem

Softly, ever so softly,

poem's heartbeat flutters.

The rhythm murmurs,

like river pulsing over rock.

Slowly, ever so  slowly,

as words converge,

the poem emerges,

like caterpillar from cocoon.

Freedom of release, once complete,

like wind beneath wings of a hawk.

So is the nature of a poem. 

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Day 19, Poem 19: 

I went my own way tonight, instead of following the totally optional poetry prompt of NaPoWriMo. Sometimes, you just gotta do what ya gotta do. :-) 

Not sure where this poem came from or where it might be headed if I make revisions later. It is just something I have been tinkering with in my notebook for awhile - with lots of scribbles and scratch outs. For some reason, my ending to the poem has now gotten John Denver's "The Eagle and The Hawk" playing in my head. That's okay. I like John Denver. 

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To the Rider of the Clouds - Oh how I have always longed to fly like a hawk, riding the currents of the wind. I watch birds in flight with envy. And yet, I hate flying in machines made by man. I just don't trust airplanes and pilots. But, one day, Lord, one day with you. . . . I love you, Lord. ~ Amen