Feathers

Like a feather drifting in the breeze along the coast of life.

Some days blissfully floating along the gentle breezes. 

Other days, when the skies are black, the waters blacker topped with churning white caps; the feather is swept along, thrown against the rocks, soaked by the dark waters. Drowning, suffocating. Broken. Left lying still as death on the sands of time.  Giving up is the light at the end of the tunnel, and death itself, all in one.

Without the winds to carry the feather, there is no point to go on.

Sunny days with gentle breezes lift the broken feather back into the air to fly again..... those days are getting shorter and shorter. Further apart, the feather doesn't dry and heal fully before the next storm.

How much more can I take before I fail to rise again?

Does the wind even care I'm no longer able to rise on my own?

Do I matter to anyone?

I'm broken and no one cares. Unable to reach out, though that doesn't matter anyways... The one I need to survive doesn't need me... nor seems to want me.

I know I'm not strong enough to be the one everyone needs.

Pieces of Life

Long long ago all the pieces were in place... not complete, but in place, making a picture for all to see.  These pieces in themselves do not a picture make. This special picture of pieces changes until its end. The Fates and life have pulled and tweaked, moving the pieces as time has moved on, changing the picture until no more.
People, places, things have taken pieces, to keep near their hearts, to rely upon, to use for their own picture without regard to the original picture or piece, to leave in the gutter drowning in the rain water. New pieces are far and few between... coming in with great joy or destruction. Each piece has its place and role in the master picture.
The most precious pieces are the pieces given with love to be cherished by another, to make the other complete.  When a piece is given out of love it does not leave emptiness in its wake. Pieces given in love are the strongest, if poorly treated, the piece will not return to its place in the picture as it once was. Broken, torn, damaged it fits... but no longer shines. It changes the picture.
Pieces loved by another fill the space until it overflows to the other pieces. Melding, meshing, it becomes the glue that holds the picture together through its ever changing life. Through the storms and trials bestowed upon the piece by the Fates, the glue holds firm, though during the ice storms sometimes cracks and small chinks form until temperatures warm up to reseal the pieces together again. Binding, surrounding, protecting each piece is the lifeblood of the glue. It must not fail lest the pieces shatter forever, never to become the picture intended by the Fates. The pieces rely upon the strength of the glue to get them through the storms intact as a whole picture, not individual pieces to be picked up and put slowly back together until a new picture emerges.
Only the Fates know if the glue is strong enough to protect the pieces. To weather the storms, to fight for the pieces, to become a part of the picture forever.

The Viking's Fight

   Treading water beneath a darkened sky. In the darkness, no land is visible though the Viking knows it's out there... somewhere. From the land, beautiful fireworks light up the sky. Using and pulling upon the strength of her ancestors coursing through the Viking's blood, treading to stray above the water to breath, to live, to see the fireworks. The water, living, pulling, sucking, dragging the Viking down into the depths.
   For a moment, lights shine upon the water. The Viking screaming and reaching out to be saved.
The boat ventures near but when seeing the Viking, turns and races back into the darkness not wishing to disturb its occupants. Loud music, laughter, feelings of anger and smell of alcohol soaked occupants from the boat fade away until just a fleeting memory for the Viking.
   Legs are aching, heart is breaking, the Viking's body screaming to give up to the water's pull. Another firework lights up the sky. Lasting only a moment in time, pouring strength into the Viking, giving reason to tread a bit longer. Always bits of hope and life showered in sparks across the darkness of the sky. Aiding the weary and broken. 
   Another day, perhaps more time will bring the boat around again. Longing for the land, the safety and security that it is rumored to bring.