But what if I’d

never seen that pigeon

and carried on, not facing my deepest fears of death?

I almost stepped on it:

a dead pigeon —

beak crushed — wings spread — flattened on the road.

My heart stopped cold —

I felt

my blood draining — no life left — squashed.

I stepped over it, eyeing

it sideways,

my heart pounding with impending death.

Freddy Niagara Fonseca

--

--

I saw an angel in the stone and carved to set it free.

— Michelangelo

Who condemned your savage spirit to stone

and chiseled your features — then left you alone?

He squashed your pride, and as you hardly age,

your stony hide expands with noble rage.

Your mighty roar…

--

--

In shimmering rays from above,

white blossoms deeply in love

with drowsy spring

are humming, “spring, spring!”

Where those blossoms abound,

bright colors all around

awakening now,

are whispering, “how, how?”

White blossoms in their prime,

now in full flowering time,

all basking in love,

keep nodding, “love, love!”

Freddy…

--

--

Freddy Niagara Fonseca

Freddy Niagara Fonseca

I am Cosmopolitan Poet. Born in the tropics, I write adventurous, mystical poetry with creative rhythms and rhyme, frequently mixing humor and classical styles.