Well Dove the time has come,
to decide upon the seal I have placed upon your delicate wings.
Silver-blue armour that both protects and binds,
Paralyzes and frees,
now bounds your wings.
Your white-and black feathers so soft when seen were to too intense for eyes,
the purity and depth it displayed was the brilliance of morning,
and the darkness that swept the stars at night.
With such brilliance in sight I could only watch in awe and fear,
as I watched the blossom of red rushed across your breast,
and dyed your front with passion.
As I watch in pernicious rage at the affront I am shocked,
you flit back and forth without pause,
attracting the attention of the many watching.
With a pause and a sigh,
I close my window to the spring air and return to consciousness.
What I was watching would have been a dream,
as no bird of feather could have such lustre of day and night and passion.
But then in one hot summers evening you,
the dove who had flitted to and fro in your excitement had fallen ill.
The red that had blossomed on your chest with pride and joy faltered,
and the brilliance faded to the dark mull of the dejected.
My interest or maybe acquiescence returned,
and with a flourish and show took you back to my windowsill.
I treated your aching heart and your bloodied will,
pushed… No, forced you into realizing the reality,
placed you gently back onto he windowsill and blew softly to give you strength.
With my sorrowful goodbye I could only smile,
as I knew that one dove would fly again in splendour,
to please the sight of those who are too far to touch,
but allured all the same.
you the dove,
then flew higher and higher into the sky,
and closer unto the grasping hands of those below.
You did in your daring flight get caught,
time and time again,
but each time I brought you in to my little room,
away from the sights and the sounds,
and fixed your bruised wings or hollow chest.
But with each passing day my resolve was faltering,
the beauty I held within my hands so nicely was beyond my help,
as the battering winds of those who would betray harmed the dove,
In my thinly guised rage I knew of the strength I had seen,
and the goodwill the dove saw in my actions,
and was driven to be disturbed by these actions.
In a burst of disgust against the ones who would try to touch,
and those who would try to tame,
I placed a small piece of blue metal on your body,
to defend you from the exposure of the people.
I wrote in the cool metal of the intent of the people,
laid bare and true in my frank analysis,
without lie or misleading comment I wove the spell,
and you so welcoming of my efforts took the metal as gift.
With each passing fall or scrape or cut,
and with a soft smile and an even softer voice,
I gave your pieces of armour more sheen,
more colour and a cool.
Flying through the air in your metal coat,
and as the heavy shield became more complete,
The time of reckoning had come.
For as you had come to my sill whenever you had required help,
and with my sympathetic I had become soft,
and forgotten which was dream,
and which was the scathing reality.
I had become the sole viewer of your antics and fun,
seeing that which no other would see,
the dark and light tints and tones,
and the radiant red,
or so my embellished misconception lead me to believe.
In my soft I had decided that the passion would remain,
and was fair to be seen by those who would grab at your tender wings,
but then again I never thought about you displaying such fierceness,
such majesty and brilliance to those whom flew with you,
those other birds whom you graced were much more suited to fit your acquaintance.
Rage or maybe sadness filled my veins with a shade of jealousy,
and my welcoming hands went from wide open to the clench of a vice,
the sorrow of the vain fell as a pallor across my face.
But I was still indignant of my irritation,
knowing in spite of irritation that I was the one to help,
the one to try and assist you in your flight,
the one your secrets were held by.