Late Night Poetry #10

bird-sunset

Climbing out of my heart
are drawn out stumbling words,
half-formed, inarticulate little birds.

They are slow and tired
more a cry than a scream:
my heart, it likes to dream.

How do I grow a new self again,
from the ashes of the ruins,
should I stand still in my illusions?

Those wordless little birds,
still straining at their cage,
will find a way to freedom on the page.

And eventually, inarticulate stumbling words,
grow strong roots of truth and power:
a word after a word is the only answer.

6 Comments Add yours

  1. Ellie Parker says:

    I adore this, thank you

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Liz Ward says:

      Thank you for your lovely comment 🙂

      Like

  2. Wow. That was deep. It made me think, especially that last verse.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Suma Fiore says:

    I liked this, quite a bit. So much that I featured your poem on my blog. Really spoke to me Liz 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Liz Ward says:

      Thank you, thank means a lot 🙂

      Like

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