Glass Prison

Yorke

Autumn sky is company,
In leaf filled tornados I am free.
In all these hues,
It's the blues I see.

Your voice is a rustle in the wind,
a rumour, a murmur,
like the hole in my heart,
the blood that escapes my veins.

I long for a home,
a bird forever on the wing,
I seek the will to sing.

These Windows are my prison.
I force the tree's spiteful limbs
Into witches fingers.
Tree fingers,
I pray for their conjuring,

There are no offerings.


I am futile,
I am spun sugar,
brittle,
a lone ingredient,
that which has no place in the mouth of your existence.

  • Author: Yorke (Offline Offline)
  • Published: December 3rd, 2015 02:34
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 47
  • User favorite of this poem: Bmulk.
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry and subscribe to My Poetic Side ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors Weekly news

Comments3

  • Bmulk

    Umm...your poetry is nothing less than inspirational. Your work leaves me truly speechless. It's as if I it draws me close enough to feel while leaving me distant enough to have to think. Thank you!!

    • Yorke

      Thank you very much for reading. Thank you very much for such a lovely comment, I truly appreciate your words 🙂

    • Rooster

      The visuals your words bring to life in this poem are stunning. kudos to you sir.

    • Yorke

      Thank you kindly Mr Rooster



    To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.