In These Feathered Fields
Walking across soft fields
in colored songs not black or white
I meet ten million souls
Who dance my arduous plight
mountains of whispering feathers
flitter all about
until one by one these sweeping dreams
rest on the ground, worn-out
but as the last wilted feather falls
souls begin to shout
while I lift my weary head
they don’t let my flame go out
each hands me back a feather
to give me needed peace
making me immortal
they don’t let my music cease
they bless my final dance
and willingly outpour
a love filled last hurrah
but they’ve given so much more
you see
a journey such as mine
ached for faith restored
and as I say goodbye
my soul now freely soars
in these feathered fields
through these open doors
By Barbara Tremblay Cipak
Copyright 2009
Tags: death poem, in these feathered fields, poem dedicated to Michael Jackson's passing
