Death of My Creation

March 23, 2012 Dark, Poetry 0

by Lilly Baxley

Your machine is powerful

Certainly a work of art

Remembered by all those who see you

as soon as the magic starts

Majestic colors and vivid hues

Catching even the most distracted eyes

Placing each on you

Your strong enough to soar

And bold enough to fly

Content enough to land on a flower nearby

They all want to hold you

In their glory and pride

Not knowing how terribly fragile you are inside

Fingers are poison to your skin

You flutter and try to escape

As they stroke your wings securing your fate

Your body slows

and your wings are broken

the breath of your life falls away

the very thing they have stolen

 

About Lilly Baxley

Stage manager, theater lover, artist in various forms. poetry writer and wannabe killer of zombies! (Michonne in the making)

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