since the birds would never fly over that sad little place that nobody liked, air blown over crowded streets. gusting away hats and coats, and sending people flying with their umbrellas. and not a word was argued, after all, they chose to live in an empty place blocked by a wall. a wall with key covered in gold flecks that would never shine again. not to be a hope, or a light because then everyone would be set free. they moved through empty hourglasses, just time moving on, and getting along (time's doing quite well these days.) and when a person knocks, their ears pressed against the doors, imagining crystalline eyes, and sparkling smiles that thrill the viewer. and they hope that their voices are soft and elevating. the whispers come fast, and then the gusts of minty wind push them back through a field of near flawless lilies. and then it's quiet because there's work to be done. conditions to upheld and rules to be followed. long lists of impractical guidances and a pin drops when you don't heed them. just advising everyone that the oppressed don't oppress an oppressor and this is where you stay. behind walls where cracked lips curl in, and eyes cry out because words no longer operate like they did. the wind pushing them back into hourglasses because there's work to be done and they already signed a paper that binds them.
YOU ARE READING
Part the World
Poeziethey called him a child and disordered for wanting to get out a series of poems meant to bridge the gap between the night sky and the blue ocean. from many people who have seen both and are hoping to change the entire world with words alone. they s...
