Red was blooming, green was rustling,
Whites were floating, blue ws glimmering.
And two pairs of feet, hand in hand, walked down the park lane.
One very known, the other once mine.
My globe shattered and eyes burned.
And the Canary cried out, "He is a Traitor."
The string was torn, the damage done.
Broken glass could not be redone.
Then a silvered glass caught my eye.
And I spotted the Angel that could redo my life.
Realisation dawned, he wasn't the Traitor.
Caged in white bars, my little red Canary was.
Living in my home and crying for someone else was the real troublemaker.
Red is blooming, green is rustling,
Whites are floating, blue is glimmering.
The Angel has taught me to live and I'm fine.
My canary doesn't cry for others now, I have crossed the line.
YOU ARE READING
The Canary
PoetryEver felt what it is like to be forgotten? If yes, you know the pain. If no, I just hope it doesn't happen to you. For those who have struggled to overcome the dark, Congrats, you are a Hero. For those who are still struggling, just look in the mir...
