Blue bird

It has settles already
On my shoulder
Pushed down my throat
This little canary

Of feathers so familiar
Colored in black -
Nature’s imitation
Scratching down my windpipe

crushing on my lungs
I breathe, for you my Lord,
Yet these tiles
Feel cold

The rain from this showerhead
Sounds close to frozen
My breath, did it kill it
Or did it kill me

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem

This Poems Story

I believe poetry is to be felt, if then desired analysed. I don’t want to explain it, since it’s feeling transmitted through language.