Sunday, July 29, 2018

A Promise (557)


In the wee hours, 
somewhere along the way, 
I lost them. Just ran out. 
A tiny fish 
   in an endless ocean,
a poet, 
entirely off her words. 
They may never return,
   to comfort me 
when the world feels ugly. 
Or maybe,
   just maybe, 
like a pet bird who tired 
of its cage, they flew 
   out my window, and 
might be lured home with 
   a soft voice, 
   an aromatic treat, and 
   a promise 
of greater freedom.


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Public Domain Pictures