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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One Comment on “The Lady I Met in a Revolving Door

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