FLY, BABY, FLY

broken spirit and wings,
this bird no longer sings.
forgotten are the days of intoxicating flight,
replaced with the fears of another fight.

this day was much like any other,
but this time the lightening force of his punches created thunder.
through watery eyes and rain-stained glass, she began to see.
as she molted transparent skin and grew thick feathers, she prepared to
flee.

like embracing the change of seasons, she embraced new insight.
she learned her own husband made her wings less bright.
visions of the sun on her back as she soared above the situation
gave her the perspective to no longer tolerate vicimization.

you see, this bird can't be caged; her wings are too bright.
her mind bends bars as she exercises forsight.
i know because she sings to our kids everynight.
fly,baby,fly.

wow..that was really good

:D

LG

Awesome poem very good!!

Very good writing depoet...
Amazing!