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.
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.