Black holes are haphazardly scattered upon the scarlet nebula shell of her sleeping wings; a head emerges from one end preparing to take flight again and I watch as it soars only to be encaged once more by the automatically revolving glass door so, I step into the confines of what paralleled a perpetually moving merry-go-round, pressing my clammy palms against the surface of the spotless glass Leaving a ghostly imprint of my hand behind and I watch her struggle, the scarlet lady’s endless scuttle, to escape the revolving door’s bustle from the crowds of people who come and go and pay little attention to her patent anxiety as she longs for the freedom of the open air so, I extend a quivering finger, inviting her onto my welcoming skin and with her in tow I step outside, holding my precious cargo, and watch longingly as she spreads her wings to go into the open air, painted with streaks of crimson; the charcoal-speckled pattern of her flaming ember shell disappears gracefully into the cloudy sky and I wonder about all the times that I, too, need help to be set free.
Oh, My Word! Jacob doesn’t really write poetry, but he hopes that you enjoyed this little piece about a tiny little lady! Sometimes, it’s nice just to step out of your comfort zone every so often.
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Oh, My Word! is a weekly updated blog featuring fiction, poetry, drama, and essays for the world. #OhMyWordWednesdays
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