She stares up at the starry sky while puffs of clouds meander by to silent, dark places not known. She watches alone, all alone, yearning to fly. All her life, she’s been a bird, caged, frazzled, red feathers, eyes of jade; both, no longer as sleek and bright— In fact, she is quite a sad sight…has come unmade. She’s been called a bitch—perhaps, witch? —that wasn’t a spell, just a twitch, muttered with a foul word or two at the one who causes hoodoo, makes her bones itch. One night she will straddle a broom, run away from this life entombed. To the far heavens, she will climb— Yes, stay up long past her bedtime…fly with the moon. ©2023 jai florette
Image by Ruslan Sikunov from Pixabay
On the Fringe of Darkness 
Just give her wings and watch her soar…
grand and delightful words spun into a heart felt piece. Lovely Jai👌🤍
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Thanks so much, Destiny. 🙂💜
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Pleasure…
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Beautifully evocative…❤️
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Thank you, Sister. ❤️
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“But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.” ~ Maya Angelou
Darkness personified. Lovely work as usual, jai. 🖤
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You quote from one of my favorite poems of hers, that really, I haven’t thought about for a long time. Who knows…maybe it was bouncing inside my muddled subconscious when I wrote this. Thank you for reminding me of it; I’ve reread it a few times now. 😊 And thank you for your lovely compliment, Rann. 🖤
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Sing your heart out. You are a gift. 🖤
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Aw, Rann, that is so sweet. Thank you. 🖤
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Again, in my spam folder.
Thanks, Destiny.💜
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