Still

Cyclical are my ways, my plume ring round me for protection. Time passes over and over and over again. I keep a watchful eye on the clock's hands sweeping over me. Time and time again, hands scrape over my knees, rustle my feathers, and bruise my heart with each pass.  Yet, I recover ...stand up straight...brush myself off and... lean forward to let the wind carry me.  The resource of time carries on. Still facing a forward direction poised in place, I yearn for courage, speed, knowledge, and answers. The momentum gusts behind me.  Still, held in this life that rushes by,  only to revisit the past. A peacock, feathers ruffled yet perfectly groomed, alone with my thoughts.  I dance in place ... on display...the divine dance of pure openness, beauty, and acceptance. A bodacious hunger falls upon my lips, thriving on the essence of poisonous nutrient.  My colorful iridescent feathers suggesting that my soul hold onto the hope and possibility of transforming fear into shimmering love and compassion.
Shhh! Listen! A future out there... to still explore, and so, I'm still here?  An onlooker of of moments passed?  Silent?  Ha...not me!!  There is someone, something awaiting my arrival.  A waiting game, played with strategy and skill.  How skillful could my ways be, if I remain still?  Spread your wings...dear nymphalid, and fly!