Kite

                                                                           (Image Source: www.wikipedia.org)



Flying high,
Flapping its wings,
Violently, passionately,
Soars the kite, up, up, up in the air,
To the ocean of stars,
Fading away in the break of dawn,
Losing itself without a soul to mourn.

The kite gazes down,
Up, right and left,
Not a single feather in sight,
The powerful arch it so possessed,
The pride in its eyes, the blood in its beak,
Perhaps it was time to go down,
The kite had already covered the peak.

Perched on a branch, it noticed the clouds,
Inviting it to the valley of heaven,
Standing on the brink of extinction,
The days of glory lost, the lonesome beast thought,
"Is this my fate, the hunter becomes hunted?"
Tears flowing through its eyes,
But alas, birds don't cry, they are meant to feel the pain,
A dagger suddenly in sight, pierces its heart,
And the last kite falls, beauty lost in dust.



This poem is written for One Single Impression and the Prompt is Kite.