Featherless

 

There are moments I feel compelled

To pack up and escape…something

Most would phrase it “getting away”

For me, at times, its getting to somewhere

Maybe, for a day or two, maybe a week

I just never know until, I’m packing

I oft like secluded places, I guess- to think

Which, ironically I do most frequently

It could be, I get bored with myself?

Perchance I subconsciously need a change

Or I hope to be randomly in the right place

For what- I’m never quite sure about

Which brings me to mention an event

I had the other day, a queer epiphany

Shortly after my arrival I went for a stretch

Now mind you, I rarely ever do that

But recently- I had stopped for a rest

After a ponderous walk by the waters edge

Always being sure not to get my feet wet

I took a dry seat on a bolderish shoreline

The sun: being low at this time of year

Was feeling rather warm for mid-day

And I- began feeling very thirsty

When I realized, in all my years visiting

I never so much as saw one Pelican bird

And I thought to myself, that was most odd

After all- this place is called: Pelican Bay

No memory comes to mind of complaints

In minor conversation I’ve encountered

By other visitors or even locals alike

One would think near the bulwark

Where they have a seasonal food stand

It would host a migrating flock at least

Perhaps, I’ve simply not been here;

If and whenever they may have come?

Perhaps further, they are more like love;

That for some, comes in rare seasons?

Perhaps again, that was also my message

By some divine intellectual intervention

On why as of late, whenever I peregrinate

Only one set of footprints are left behind

Perhaps what needs to really change for me

Is to truly quench, whats really missing?

 

Poet of the Light © 2019