I feel like a bird, whose wings have been clipped.
Longing for the breeze of summer skies.
Where problems seem so small from up above.
And at last I can be free.
But with broken wings, I remain on the ground.
Finding spare twigs and junk for a home.
That I don’t really know.
Wondering if I’ll ever recover.
Hollowed away in a frozen oak,
Huddled down in some stilled rest.
As feather by feather it painfully regrows.
Learning how to reuse tired bones.
So that when spring blooms once more,
The grief will be nothing but a single scar,
That occasionally ruffles in,
As I sore into deep blue skies.
About the Creator
Lane Burns
I am a Poet and an inspiring short story, one day novel writer.
I like to write in free verse mostly, but am heavily inspired by Emily Dickenson, and tend to create my own rules and ideas as well.
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Comments (1)
Awe deep, love the metaphor.