A feather as blue as the sky

Let me share a distant memory, one I kept away from the dust
I once entered the ruins of a house, where nothing was left but grass, glass and rust
It had no roof; nature was not so kind to let it remain
Even the homeless had nothing to do with it, and why would they? there was nothing to gain

I used to pass it by every day when I was child, never daring to enter
Though curiosity kept growing, until one day I could control it no longer
For a place with no roof, it sure had a lot of walls left
As if that house was daring time itself, and chose to proudly resist
Yet again nothing was to be found, or so I thought while roaming around
Until I came across a surprising sight, as if it suddenly came right up from under the ground
It was a rusty chair in front of a wooden table, both rather well preserved like old relics
Like they were looked after for years by someone, and left there on purpose

When I saw them, I immediately felt nostalgic, wondering what feelings or memory did they trigger?
Or was I actually sad to see them left unused in the same manner I mourn an empty ripped paper?
Not realising: I sat down on the chair, looking at the table like an old friend
Then the sunlight got stronger on that spot, like a bystander looking at me with condolences to send
In that moment I raised my head up, trying to take a breath from the scent of doom
Only to see a beautiful blue and vast sky above, one that purged what was left of my gloom

In that moment, I took out my pen and notebook, feeling that some lines could be written
Forgetting that I was in ruins, sitting on rust, as if the sight made those circumstances hidden
And I understood for once HOW I wanted to write from then on, a much-needed realization
To contemplate the value of emotions, and to hold on to beauty even amid destruction

That is the kind of feather I chose to carry: one that navigates through the dark clouds and storms of life
To spill my mind like ink on paper, confronting my mishaps in a seemingly endless strife
Only to end with words of hope, ones that may not always sound so sweet
However, in their essence exists a blue sky of thoughts extending out there for others to read

" When was the sky this beautiful and vast?"
" Such a lovely weather, I hope it does not end fast"
Those were the lines I wrote that day
simple, and for that moment, couldn't find better words to say