The Wind Makes Me Cry
because I cannot hear her song
The wind makes me cry because I cannot hear her song.
It is a whisper?
A wail?
Maybe humming?
I could be wrong.
The wind makes me cry because I wish I could be a bird,
Belonging to the sky,
I would be hers.
My arms would become my wings,
My fingers - my feathers.
I will rise as she will sing;
Always there in all the weathers.
Is it always the same wind no matter where I go?
Or is each current a different ego?
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About the Creator
Rosie J. Sargent
Hello, my lovelies! Welcome, I write everything from the very strange to the wonderful; daring and most certainly different. I am an avid coffee drinker and truth advocate.
Follow me on Twitter/X @rosiejsargent97
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Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
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Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
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More stories from Rosie J. Sargent and writers in Poets and other communities.
Perfect Little Pirate
The rough, sodden rope bit into her fingers as she swung over the roiling water far below. Reaching out with the toe of her boot, she managed to catch hold of the rain-soaked railing of the ship- and promptly slipped. Throwing herself forward, she landed hard on the deck, slamming her elbows against the wood planks. The sharp yelp of pain quickly bubbled into a laugh, and she rolled onto her back, laughing up at the gray sky as a torrent of rain washed away the soot covering her skin.
By M. A. Mehan 8 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
The title drew me in, it’s fantastic. The poem is beautiful!
This is so gorgeous Rosie. I love your rhyming style too, we don’t see enough of it anymore. Thanks for sharing 👏🏼