Joel Jonas Tan Ngee.

You may contact me:

jo99xpro@hotmail.com


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Sunday, September 6, 2009

Little Swallow threads the air,
searching for what can not be seen.
The Sky's lit a tone of blue,
of which the many birds flew.

Little Swallow understands,
Little Swallow knows it's true.
What unseen denies not,
the presence of which fact has laid.

By the foot of little swallow,
resides a little stream of red glow.
It trickles down slowly,
to where it land left undefined.

Little Swallow lives aware,
the tiny feel of rose thorns prick.
The sky is endless, the clouds relentless.
No Little Swallow does not stop.

The winds grow strong, the clouds fade dark.
The light travels fast, thunders rule the sky.
Nothing escapes Little Swallow's mouth,
nigh is the end of what Little Swallow does not see.

The horizon uncoloured,the sky has no yield.
Without vision and naught to listen,
it is the million blades on the vast field,
to which Little Swallow lays still.

Soon no after, the leaves sway.
the wind whistles whilst sailing the skies.
Like a melody unheard of,
a single cry fills the mass.
"Why Little Swallow?"

The Moon has passed, the sun hastes not.
The stars show behind hazy clouds,
light begins shimmering on the plains,
for Little Swallow is only asleep.

The sun wraps the horizon in light,
the night is over, Little Swallow awakes.
The winds push Little Swallow back in the skies,
the origin of which proven unknown.

The river now dry, is filled and clean.
Little Swallow begins once more.
It is hope that Little Swallow seeks,
yet hope which Little Swallow brings.

Such is the fate of a Little Swallow.
A courier of Faith.