Stern eyes, stern hair
Steady gait
Going nowhere.
Never flinching
Not a word
No one noticed
No one heard.
Carrying his world
Nodding hello
Working till dawn
Palms numb
and yellow.
And everyday
It was the same
The chill inside
The mask, the game.
Till one lucky day
He forgot to play
And the scarlet night
Stole away his fight.
And suddenly
so suddenly
he saw the world turn white
with that familiar light
so long out of sight.
Yes, the world turned white
As his brand new wings
His brand new wings
took flight.
Devoted exclusively to the creative process. Here you will see photojournaling, poetry, prose, an occasional review--journaling or philosophical writing can be found on our other blogs. This is our attempt to use our imaginations. Enjoy!
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1 comment:
sort of metamorphic. iron butterfly anyone?
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