The Empty Nest by Robin Goodfellow
Sleeping inside a rotting cradle
eyes flutter shut in the dark,
dreaming of songs and of fables,
the quiet from a forgetful heart.
Little leaves caress its face
amongst the fragile silence.
Upon an eroding, changing grace,
it hides itself from violence.
Twigs and buds from long lost times
carelessly lulls it to sleep.
The soundless chirping and broken ties
to an innocence so forever deep.
Worried shadows gather forth,
while white feathers cascade.
They all call forth from endless lore,
while desperately watching it fade.
Abandoned and lost the tiny babe cries
forever entwined in pitiful lies,
yet still it drifts, and can no longer deny
the pleasure of illusions