Outside of my dorm building there is a neat row of small, skinny trees with markings that look like eyes on their barks. With their brown, narrow eyes they watch all that occur on Holly Drive. Like the white bike with sky blue wheels that longs to become a bird and fly.
The bike is old now and falling apart. Its handle bars have rusted and have been pathetically put together by yellow tape. It has grown tired of being confined to the ground, and now wishes to escape with its own pair of wings.
Months go by and the bike can tell that its owner doesn’t care about the ol’ bike anymore by the way they haphazardly threw the bike against the bike rack. The bike is at its lowest, and has nearly given up on its dream to fly until it notices a tawny brown freckled feather has sprouted from its right handle.
Maybe the gods have finally listened to the bike’s prayers. Soon, probably late at night when no human is around, the bike will complete its transformation into a majestic bird and fly away, no longer restricted by the laws of gravity. The small, skinny trees in a neat row with eyes in its bark will be the only witness. The trees see all. Unfortunately they cannot talk.
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In the Depths of My Mind: A Collection of Poems & Short Stories
PoezieA collection of random poems and short stories I write as a way of venting out emotion or just little ideas that spring up in my head. So in a way, yes, yes, this is a diary, but still enjoy.
