Pigeon Feathers


I once dreamed I was a poet,
But I was bound to a single page.
You’re not just a pen and a piece of paper,
You’re a dog-eared book grown old with age.

I’ve got a friend with a golden table,
And he dines with the best of men.
He’d buy you that silver mirror,
If you could see that it’s only sand.

I believe that I’m a writer,
But I am bound to a single page.
Sipping coffee at the edge of nightfall,
Kissing you under summer rain.

But you feed the fire when you close the door…

I recently went to a music festival and fell in love with a band called River Whyless.  They are indie folk with a emphasis on the fiddle.  Their voices mellowed beautifully and I absolutely loved their sound.  These lyrics above are my favorite song on the CD.  This song is such a beautiful representation of how I feel sometimes.  I have always dreamed and thought I was a writer at heart.  I have always felt I am much deeper than people view me.  I can explain how I feel through writing better than speaking.

Picture provided by Flickr https://www.flickr.com/photos/__olga__/3935059442/in/photolist-wFRPG-e5Kh2G-4oSuMF-frtPAn-4oSuMn-3n1MnR-vPTG9-6ZJd5s-a8F5yN-dhNRV-8xe84h-3N8Rj-rqqRP-5yzGT6-pwLi4o-icq8M-pbqiNk-9Rvu3z-7b3apm-xUuZp-3oQanJ-6mSTmf-JAJi6-AFyqr-a6dVf9-624F4b-7zoLFE-6chE29-7VsnHd-5ggYkd-icq9g-9a37nH-3rYKj-muB5SG-61ZshX-4j9UjR-4r78Yp-8UeNys-6H2v6f-6gTqZG-6wWs1s-qKb5y-3rZah-aWRS3-bmcVVG-9Ryoco-ccDUcG-mTVieH-6fcs7t-8DAytv


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