poetry & things

Fly from darkness

The bridge, well worn, with slipping wood, crossing over

with secrets hidden, nearly fully under,

rainy days so long.

Her head – a flutter of lily moths, emerging, searching for air,

from a stifling room she fled, dark the forest bled

whispers, wings of white clouds through trees

swirl, drifting amidst dancing fields

on this day, learning

to be free.

Post navigation
Scroll to top