Flutter

Midnight owls sail across the crimson sky
Waiting, searching, hoping
To find what they’ve been looking for.
Plundering the souls of their victims
Throughout the nights and days
Fighting for this elite gift
To make their lover’s coatings ascend.

The cold breeze soon settles in,
But not of the air,
Of the heart.

For the marauding does not ultimately astound,
But offers denunciation.

So the days and nights spent preying
For a gift of what he assumed was love
Wasted away and tore the owl down
From soaring as high in the heavens evermore.
All for his ignorance and unknowing
That it was felt in the heart,
And a gift of love is not given through misdeed.

Because true love is candid
And true love is existent,
So much as not even an endowed thief
Would be competent to steal.

Christina Marie Bent