Poem: The Bird Flew at The Sun

The Bird Flew at The Sun

It seemed to fly at the sun

beak pointing ever forward

straight into the sky's fiery heart,

never resting.  How could it

never stop, never rest?  How could it fly this way?

Always flying on, at the sun,

beak pointed at the sun, blazing

with the glow.  But never closer,

always, it flew at the sun,

never resting, maybe still,

I do not know any longer,

I stopped following so long ago,

but it was still flying towards the sun,

though it could not know the distance,

could not tell it would never arrive,

that the horizon always has another

waiting behind it, another it will become,

another, just the same as all those

already flown by unnoticed,

all that is below, all that might be found,

all that can be reached, but

it flew always at the sun, that bird.

It would not he satisfied with the world,

had to have what it could not reach.