The wings
Perched on your finger
Flutter,
The life you hold
Quivers with beauty
Too free to be contained
Too joyful to be bottled
In the little jar you screw tight.
When you open your eyes
You find your finger bare
No jar and shattered glass.
Because only in your dreams
Can you catch a butterfly
And keep it.
About the Creator
Sara
Don’t look for love.
Be love.
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The Harvest
Koyi wobbled to her shabby wood and straw kaz, holding her machete and an old burlap bag with some yams. Someone had laid another basket in front of the patched up door—rose apples today. They were a bright reddish pink, looking waxy and crisp, just the way she liked them. The culprit knew her very well. Those would be crunchy, juicy and sweet—she could tell—but she gathered all the will she could muster and pushed the basket aside to enter her home. She had already said no repeatedly and would not be taking bribes.
By Lily Séjor2 days ago in Fiction
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