Late Night Poetry #10


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.

9 Comments Add yours

  1. Ellie Parker says:

    I adore this, thank you

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Liz Ward says:

      Thank you for your lovely comment πŸ™‚


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

    Liked by 2 people

  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 πŸ™‚

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Liz Ward says:

      Thank you, thank means a lot πŸ™‚


  4. anshisaxena says:

    Nice page u give my poems a read..hope u like it😊😊

    Liked by 1 person

  5. aquibview says:

    I like readings poems. And sometimes I write to. But not like you. Awesome πŸ™‚


  6. Aphadolie says:

    I like this. Congratulations from France

    Liked by 1 person

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