She fled her body, to where the poets fly.

Her heart lived in that place,

an angel by night light.

There were feathers on the wind of day,

and music, like a lovers kiss, drifting.

Oh, how she loved, there.

Oh, how she loved.

And how she missed that beautiful whisper

when down to earth

she fell.

Photo by Viktorya Sergeeva ud83dudc99ud83dudc9bud83eudec2 on

By brookecutler2

Liver of life, lover of everything. 💕

4 replies on “Feathers”

Aww, I’m glad you liked it Claire! xx And thanks for popping in. ❤️ I hope all that beautiful art of yours is filling your heart bucket up to the brim. Creativity will do that for a person, don’t it. ☺️✨xx


This place is very special Brooke and to be treasured. I hope that one day my equivalent space will give berth to some photographs as connecting and centreing as you poetry is to me.
I also feel that this space is necessary to keep us with the right attitude to attachment/detachment to our influence in the space we fall to, if that makes sense. We always have somewhere wonderful to go to if all falls apart down here so we never then fear solitude.
One great advantage of old age is that you stop having to run the world, like having to look after children, and have much more time to spend there, bliss – it will come to you.
Mind you I do go there really deeply when I’m with my grandchildren – bliss again.
I went straight there when I read this poem, thank you lovely Brooke.

Liked by 1 person

I treasure your friendship dear, Peter. And these beautiful words of wisdom. I am so looking forward to my old age, if this is the case. To be free to roam in this beautiful world of purity is what my soul does long for. x☀️


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