In the grasp of the angels
I thought I saw my fishing nets grow wings.
Once they squirmed free though, they just plummeted.
It surprised me, the dizziness in my stomach,
The anchors ploughing from my earrings.
Because what else could I ever be,
But a farmer misplaced,
A fisherman uncomfortable on an island of mirrored images
And burning trees of wisdom.
Lightning strikes, and I thought I saw the angels stare at me, almost accusational,
As if I had been the one to throw temper tantrums.
"I am not Zeus," and my ego agrees,
Since pride I see as an enemy to everything I should believe in.
Everything that should float me upwards and help me soar with the wings of doves and finches.
I thought that something had changed on my inside puzzles pieces,
A shift of red to silver, bloodied scars reminding me of all the things to apologise for.
"I'm sorry that I hoped." I say as the ground becomes apparent to me.
I lay down and sink as the roots and fangs of the vipers take me with them.
And I smile because the daisies chose me to be their fertiliser.
~
About the Creator
Ruby Red
Heya friend, I'm Red!
I write poetry, so subscribe for a hint of vulnerability, some honesty and the occasional glimpse behind my mask 🌱
Taking a break from Vocal; focusing on my anthology 🫶💖
AI is not art.
Comments (2)
And I smile because the daisies chose me to be their fertiliser. I frelling love that line! <3
Really lovely poetry ♦️🌼♦️