Poetry will find it’s own way,
Once it receives the poet’s breath.
Dancing with wings to life’s ballet
A poet’s heart to be confessed.
When by beauty, it’s been caressed,
Poetry shares it’s gifts of light.
Opening minds which were oppressed,
So heart and soul will reunite.
A Spanish form of poetry, the huitain revolves around the number eight – there are eight lines in the poem, and each line contains eight syllables. The rhyme scheme is ababbcbc. That’s all there is to it! (http://www.elfwood.com/farp/thewriting/27brianforms/27brianforms.html#ethere)
She got lost during her planned transformation,
Merged her lifeless wings with the other fallen.
Connecting out of necessity,
To a collectiveness of the forgotten.
Dissolved into a new work of art,
An accent looked upon with condolement.
Still beautiful, but glued down,
By complacencies strong cement.
Patterns eventually blur; colors fade over time.
What will you experience in the wait?
What if your expected transformation was an illusion?
Was this, maybe, always your fate?
Sometimes it’s hard to just sit still,
To wait as You say to do.
To fight against my unruly human will,
When my flesh is crawling with desires to move.
I know You’ll renew my strength,
If I could, with trust, find peace with pause.
But I want resolution sooner rather than later,
Won’t You help me with my cause?
I know You’re working.
I believe in Your truths.
If only biding time were easy.
But, I question, what good would that do?
You say I’ll mount up on wings like eagles,
Wings that rise above raging storms.
Catching the powerful wind currents,
Which lift and carry them along.
Lifted high, yet dependent on Your support,
In stillness or in movement.
Please grant me the willingness I need,
To move through and beyond this.
“But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.”