Bring me a song, a stolen breath and single shoe. Bring me the sun, sweet briar and summer’s dying embers.
Bring me the lost words; his discarded poetry, the lines left unsaid. Bring me the youngest heart, the widest smile and the tears we all forgot.
Set these things beside me, gather them in stripes upon my palms. Simple lines that twist and merge with mine.
And from these golden threads I will weave a story. Craft a feather, shape a kite.
Watch me, wave me off, as I float above this cell. As I escape this place of final days.
Post a Comment