12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice

Kite

the kite is a little liar
she’s told

thought she could fly alone
forgot herself, forgot her ties
knotted in the reality of another

yanked back to the squalor
day after day
fighting her string
reeled in, out
an air fish of copper flame

all that hate below
all that is gold is above

it was always there

the sun can melt clear
the wax off wings
and a gaze can, too
she’s learnt

doubts fry hope
on behalf of the sky

so kiss that eternal sea
in a rain of feathers
and fire

Tell me wotcha reckon

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This entry was posted on January 10, 2020 by in Poetry.

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