A Tiny Caged Bird.

Wayne Duckworth
Jan 16, 2018 · 1 min read
Photo: Tamara Menzi — unsplash.com

I am forgotten

a tiny caged bird,

no bigger than your thumb

held inside your chest.

Hidden,

I flutter my tiny wings,

dance and swish a crimson tail,

call to you with sweet mantra.

But you are bound,

blind,

unable to taste

the sweet fragrance

carried on the air.

I drink with my tiny beak

a thousand sips

to feed you a single drop

of nectar,

and you with no lips to taste,

a stone heart

unable to beat out

a lively rhythm.

I am parched now, grow tired,

and reach inside the

breast pocket

of your sharp and expensive suit.

I find my weapon of choice

a simple paperclip,

uncurl,

push it through my own

tiny beating heart.

It hurts,

it hurts you,

now you remember me

and pray

to feel the breeze

cool your burning cheek,

from the flutter

of my tiny wings.

Wayne Duckworth

Written by

Children's picture book author, novelist and poet. Yogi. World nomad. Embracing the awesome queer, geek and freak. Medium member since 1 April 2017 (no joke!)

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