…I flew pass my old house today
Hovered above an apple tree
Black snow was falling on the ground
Paint peeling off the garage, striping itself naked
Bearing its soul of heartache and sadness
Not remembering it was once a happy home
…The house is an abandoned eyesore
All the windows are covered with board
I pondered if its to keep the ghosts inside
Or keep them from escaping
It’s time to fly again, and never return
Let the ghosts wrestle among themselves
I can fly!
I miss my house, but not the life. I’d rather fly everyday with strong wings,
Or flop with a broken one, just not be caged.
Peace my friends.
Vera Robinson © 2015