It has a fork, blue handled,
that flashes when it strikes.
But now, its belly, bulging
through folds of cloud,
is the only sight.
Its slow slouch
slides across the sky.
But rumbles run within.
Is it...done? I wonder, cautiously.
It surely wouldn't even see
so small a piece
of meat
as
me?
-
Author:
Kieron (
Offline) - Published: February 9th, 2024 16:49
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
Offline)
Comments2
I like the consistency of the metaphor.
: )
Thank you!
Great imagery.
Thank you, Thomas.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.