A Blessing To All
Lucky in life
![](https://res.cloudinary.com/jerrick/image/upload/d_642250b563292b35f27461a7.png,f_jpg,fl_progressive,q_auto,w_1024/666cce1090b7c3001de29fd0.webp)
He scowls at the wind that bashes him solid,
Washing his hands of the camaraderie of the past,
He whispers his feeling of rage upon the airways,
His defence against those feelings that never last.
**
He carries the weight of his pack upon his heart,
Enduring their weakness and days of tears,
He scolds them to strength and forgotten courage,
Shouldering their grappling of any incessant fears.
**
He calls out the enemy with the wicked thoughts,
Laughing at their naivety and lack of foresight,
He’ll best their bravery with one arm tied behind his back,
And still endeavour to be the successor of the fight.
**
He whistles to his comrade, his trusty steed,
Rippling muscle under skin of midnight black,
Flowing mane streaming in glorious precision,
A proud thoroughbred, not a peasant throwback.
**
The sun smiles down upon his antics,
The moon shimmers in delight as he bares his skin,
The wind befriends amidst tendrils of desire,
And the animals allow the welcoming to begin.
**
Eyes gaze upon a modern statue of excellence,
Long hair flittering around strong shoulders of might,
Welcome arms open into a warm hug of forgiveness,
And the pristine blue eyes burn up one’s fright.
**
To hear his voice resonate in song,
Is pure pleasure to all ears that are lucky to hear,
Baritone notes roller coaster the airways,
Until there’s not a dry eye, every one has a tear.
**
Mother Nature dances to his bass-like tones,
Clouds skip the sky, leaves twitter on the tree,
A tussle of bushes widen into a myriad of space,
As he sets the world into happiness; blissfully carefree.
![](https://res.cloudinary.com/jerrick/image/upload/d_642250b563292b35f27461a7.png,f_jpg,q_auto,w_720/666cce1090b7c3001de29fcf.jpg)
If you like this Poem, why not check out my latest book, published on 30 May 2024.
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Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Comments (1)
Oh wow, this was so wonderful! Loved your poem my friend! Your Author's Notes says this is a drabble. So you might wanna change that hehehe