The White Feather | Teen Ink

The White Feather

April 23, 2015
By Mary Long BRONZE, Thomasville, Alabama
Mary Long BRONZE, Thomasville, Alabama
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Once upon a time there was a white bird new
A hunter’s bow was tightened and an arrow flew
The outspread wings convulsed and never soared anew

One hundred feather pens were made and one was sent
To a heartbroken princess, weakened and spent

A jeweled sheathed dagger sat before her on the table
The jewels winked maddeningly, their destruction able
And so it sat lethally on the desk that was far too stable

The four-legged masterpiece of carved mahogany
Sat in a room of silent cacophony

Three other items sat before her on the table
The feather pen, ink, and scented paper

The princess wrote out her heart
She bled out her heart
She poured out her heart
In her last work of art

“My darling by death we shall part
For never could I contemplate
Wedding another for the good of the state
Curse the rich duke
Him I hate

You are my love
My peaceful dove
You are my angel from heaven above

You alone stir my soul
You alone light a fire in me
My passion for you storms a sea

Darling, we can move mountains, you and I
We can ride rainbows, you and I
We can do anything side by side

Every
Part of me
Screams in tormented agony
That I must marry that fateful he

I would rather die
Let them burn my remains and send my
Black smoke billowing for the sky

For my love is only thine
I’ll not give it to a swine
For you only do I pine
Let this last note be your sign
That I am yours and you are mine”

The distraught girl then took the note
And had it tied to a messenger goat
She took then the dagger and slit her throat

The morning maid opened her door
And found the princess crumpled on the floor

Full of weeping was the morn
When sounded was the mourning horn
On that day a white bird was born

She now stretches her wings
When the evening bell rings

And speeds across the sky
Racing the sun, now not so high

As it sets, colors blaze
And cover the world in a brilliant haze
As the poor man turns to gaze

At a bright flash of white
Soaring against the now turned night
Nothing but this is a bird in flight



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