Dedicated to folklore_1. Thank you for your votes. May you find a way to write what you desire!!!
***
Plucking her own feathers — slowly but surely,
It stings in her heart but the mind, it is empty,
She does not regret ripping her own wings,
Her dreams and desire to fly in hostile areas,
Looking for the next adventure,
Only to fall — in a cage like chamber,
A bed of broken chandeliers and damask,
She gave it up, for someone gave her up too,
And so, after writing letters from quills of hers,
To be sent to him, her last long words,
She continued plucking her almost,
Non-existent pair of beautiful wings,
She stopped until each one is plucked,
Only to stuff it in a case of cotton,
Then she picked up the baby lying in her lap,
Only to place him unto the feather-filled case.
***
"Mothers, they would even give up their dreams to let their children be the one to dream..."
YOU ARE READING
A World of Poems
Poesia"The dead that weaves in the spindle, A bundle of silk - woven and spun, Collected and collected, Until it's a huge massacre of stars." -Excerpt This is an original made poetry collection about life and are written in many forms of genre like love...
