(Written as a part of April's National Poetry Writing Month)
There once was a bird who owned the world.
A bird?
A bird, a very blue bird.
A bird, a bird that owned the world?
A very blue bird that owned the world.
What world?
A world, of grass and green, of streams and sky and no machines.
It seems...
It seems?
It seems, a dream, this beautiful place of grass and green. My world...
Your world?
Was once a place, of copper sun and amber grace.
But now?
Has lost its amber fields, is now a place of oil and steel.
But why?
You ask as if I know.
But why?
It happened long ago.
But why?
Our bird...
Your bird?
Is gone, and all that's left is your sad song! And all that's left is your sad course, a dose of pain of cold remorse – a drought of sweetened, sad decay, to toast our bird who flew away.
YOU ARE READING
A Year of Stories (Collection Two)
Short StoryThe goal: A new short story, every weekday, for a year. That's about 260 stories, for anyone keeping count. This is Volume 2, covering March and April stories. You can find the first part of the collection here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/6255...
