-- a bird spilling my emotions --
Perched on that beige twig,
she would not fly.
Peering through my window,
she seemed to daunt me.
Obliterated of every melody
she would never chirp,
abandoned, I sensed she was.
The perpetual sky, till furlongs was her courtyard,
but she wouldn't ramble there,
wounded, I perused she was.
Exagerrated wings, she was sheathed in
but fettered, they all were.
To conquer the yonder mountains,
they would never embark.
Withered, thus I painted her as.
A divulged oyster she was,
painting her, I sketched myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment