Little Bird

0 Comments

  • VerlassnTraum
  • The wounds are still fresh and unfortunately there is no lidocaine for love

Little Bird

Little bird, little bird, why must you rush
your world is content under mamas plush
why must you hatch and spread your wings
when it would be better to not see these things
the world is wide, cold, and cruel
just to survive you must learn many rules
you knew no enemies when you were an egg
but now you must be slightly afraid
the spring will drown you, winter pushes you out
fall there's no food, summer there is a drout
Little bird, little bird, why take the fall
when it would be better to not fly at all
you're on top of the world way up there
and you have mama's food and care
leave me now little bird you must fly
and become subject to the tyranny of time

Poem Comments

(0)

Please login or register

You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
leave comments/feedback and rate this poem.

Login or Register

Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

Unknown Source

VerlassnTraum’s Poems (24)

Title Comments
Title Comments
My Dove 0
Everyday Hero 0
Man Without a Heart 1
War 1
Light Through Leaves 0
Little Bird 0
Trees Entwined 1
Cut 1
The Breath 0
Moment 0
Forbidden Fruit 0
Winter Rose 0
The Call 0
The Poem and It's Poet 0
Walls 0
Chasing the Horizon 0
A Casual Stroll in the Glen 0
Troubles at the Tavern 0
City Noise 0
Shade Above The Grave 0
Your Departure 0
Regrets 0
A Sonnet of Sorrow 0
Our Symphony 0

VerlassnTraum’s Friends (2)