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The Bird Song

The one I love, a tortured soul,

Was brewing a storm I did not know.

The last day I saw him, he was a dust bowl.

He boiled over and blew away at the speed of light.

Little I could do with all my might.

So I shuffled to the living room,

Knees in hand,

Breathed down deep,

And took a stand.

I immersed in musical notes and creative genes,

Saying, “It is okay, this person is not for me.”

My wings grew, like a song bird, wild and free.

Injured, but no broken bones,

I flew my way back to home sweet home.
Pfuzylogic · M
I am glad that you survived your trusting dive of ❤️.
YoungPoet345 · 22-25, F
I still care for them but I have let them go
YoungPoet345 · 22-25, F
I will miss them but probably be better off
Pfuzylogic · M
Our instinct for self preservation must be honored. You gave every measure of gentle patience that you possessed.

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