of broken wings and sunday morning web surfing....

Your poetry-
I wish to look at,
As they look into the mirror…
But they reflect the world,
And I am but a tiny speck…
The craftsman’s skills
You possess
To create a world
And be the king.
And a page
You make of me;
Never, ever a star
That the monarch longs for.
Playful you are
With your words
And I am a butterfly
In the lad’s hands
My fate
As always
To lie on the flower’s bed
With crumpled wings
And broken breath…