The robin

You have to tell the truth in poetry

every heart wrenching soul draining truth,

every damned moment you close your eyes

and lift your head to the sky

in a desperate attempt to become the air

and let it swallow you until you’re no longer

the person you were before you closed your eyes

 

 We’ve all done it haven’t we?

We’ve all laid in the bath and stared at our feet

holding our glass of wine and intertwining each toe,

lost in the heat wrapped around your skin

like a bubble taking you away from the tragedy we call life

that awaits us beyond the bathroom door.

 

And you look at the glass you’re holding, half full of a liquid

that has turned into a desperate attempt

to drown your demons and your devils

and your never-ending list of never ending problems

that no one could ever possibly understand.

 

Except half way down the glass,

while you were trying to drown them,

you realise that your demons have learned to swim.

So you put the glass down and you stare

and you submerge yourself in the warmth

and close your eyes and think for just one second

about what would happen to you if you took a breath now.

 

But you get back up, and you cry.

And you scream.

And then you’re numb

 

We’ve all done it.

Gone on the longest walk to the most beautiful of places

and longed to be the birds that soar over the world,

free to fly wherever they wish,

free from it all,

and you think about all the places you would fly

if you were a bird.

 

I think I’m a robin

and I fly and play and swoop over the sad places,

my destination is the saddest I can find

to try and shed some light with my red breast.

Then I end up in my own back garden,

staring from the branch through the window, at myself.

  • Charlotte 
  • (Edited by Graham Sherwood)
  •  

◄ Path

I’m Not the girl you think I am ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message