The crisp autumn wind,
Sweep through my window ajar,
Never quite closed, it's breath to remember,
When it was open, quite far.
I sat in silence, one like-autumn eve,
upon the cill of my window, ajar.
Breath in, breath out, and beneath me I see,
a sea of stone, 'neath my window ajar.
Beyond the glass, I watch from above.
It looked rather soft, the new tar.
My knees made their way, to the plastic foyer,
And I opened that window ajar.
My throat was wrapped in the palm of the breeze,
And I closed my eyes, standing tall.
I stepped out my foot, I was ready to leap,
But before I stepped out, I would fall.
His voice, wrapped in madness,
Calling- not far,
As I fell back
from my window, ajar.
I looked, through my numbness,
to my place on that wall.
I'd worried my brother,
I'd have left, had I fall.
I remember that autumn,
And the soft-looking tar,
it's breath to remember,
From my window, ajar.
I wish I'd had kept,
From that soft-looking tar,
I wish I'd had kept,
My window, ajar.
YOU ARE READING
Birds in Glass Castles
PuisiMy collection of poems through the last few years in some of their rawest forms; more steppingstones of my journey as a writer.
