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Travelling toward; aglow.

A Hummingbird of fire,
hanging wingly snow,
that obliterated ire.

It delivered me — a message,
in envisioned freedom’s essence.

When, I feel it, again, at my snowblind end,
I’ll thank it for a lend, of belly-flamed repent.

As, I flew amongst those frozen blazes,
that purloined balance from our ages,
and, called upon prophets and messiahs, doomed to burn to dust; Ignatius.

Like, so many, uplifting, scriptures pages.

Yet, my fiery, snow-tipped Hummingbird,
never turned, or, forgot my words, nor, faces.

I’ve worn many through my stages — books, profiles and cases.

But, my Hummingbird,
floating there in stasis,
is a transcendental dirge,
that lives to soar within my traces,
a vestige not seen or heard,
by other people’s gazes,
nor ears buzzed and stirred.

My Hummingbird,
saved me from,
extinction,
with a cold and warm embrace,
that I’ve since adorned,
within my graces.

So, it might sound and look absurd,
but, thank you, for my life; Hummingbird.

© poormansdreams

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