Those with wings…

Like her, the park is lonely and the air is sick. It smells of stale roses and untreated promises; and the swing on which she sits squeaks a song so pathetically sad it almost makes time stop– and time, like some humans, knows less when it’s better to instead tread quickly.

The grass below is wet with dew, as are her fingers which she continually bring to her face to wipe away the watery signs of fragility and brokenness. From somewhere far, a beautiful sparrow descends and stops right where she is, to fly to and fro. Distracted by the sudden chirrup, she looks at her new companion and smiles.

“Will you stay, birdie?” she asks– only to remember that wings always fly…

 

Written in response to today’s prose-poetry prompt: “fingers” (also goes for “cut off“)

Advertisements

17 thoughts on “Those with wings…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s