I'm brown, turning grey.
Lifted up by autumn winds,
I forget myself
and what changing color means.
Now, there is only the wind.
A surface like glass
interrupts my joyous fall.
Water engulfs me.
Chlorine burns like strong venom
trying to dispose of me.
And yet, I'm still here.
I will rise—though bedraggled—
while the wind steers me.
I struggle to keep my shape,,
my tip scraping the pool's edge.
There, I lie—frozen—
until someone has mercy,
and I am rescued.
Sunlight soothes my soaked form
but now I know—my time's near.
YOU ARE READING
Reflections on a Window
PoetryUnedited. Raw poetry from the mind of an aspiring author. When it comes to me, it will find its home here. Types and forms of poems will vary.
