I cried out
In feral agony and fear
I reached out
Yet, no one was ever there
Fingertips brushing rustling skirts
Running from my squalling fits
I inched my way in teary blindness
Scraping along on elbows and belly
Down dingy halls, reeking of indignity
Pausing at door frames
Frantically searching for my
Hallowed moment of exodus
Finally my savior
I heard it, like an angel
An evening thrush
Leaning against the wall
Paint peeling, like dust, it falls
I listen until the song subsides
When the footsteps once again fall and rise
The ones I know I can't fight
I reach up, my exit clear
Sill, sturdy, directly above my weary head
Employing strength I never knew I had
Song of the evening thrush in my heart
A hopeful beacon
The wings on which I'll fly away
I escape to freedom and light
K.B. Silver
A Song Thrush singing at sunset in the Somerset countryside.
About the Creator
K.B. Silver
K.B. Silver has poems published in magazine Wishbone Words, and lit journals: Sheepshead Review, New Note Poetry, Twisted Vine, Avant Appa[achia, Plants and Poetry, recordings in Stanza Cannon, and pieces in Wingless Dreamer anthologies.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.