The Bird Of Freedom
The bird of freedom mates and dies,
No song to echo through the skies.
Feathers drift where silence creeps,
A quiet grave where no one weeps.
Its wings once cut the morning air,
A flash of hope, a fleeting glare.
Now roots entwine the brittle bone,
And winds forget what once was known.
No cry remains, no final flight,
Just empty branches lost to night.
A shadow fades, a breath departs,
And freedom ends where silence starts.
About the Creator
George’s Girl 2026
I've been writing poetry since the age of 10. With pen in hand, I wander the realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture you ❤️#Marie381UkWrites
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More stories from George’s Girl 2026 and writers in Poets and other communities.
Pandora’s Burden
“My brother warned me to not accept gifts from the one who commissioned you,” said Epimetheus to the woman clad in silvery raiments standing at the entrance to the temple. Her silver tiara and the silver rings on her fingers and toes glinted in the firelight cast by torches set on either side of the doorway. Lingering in the shadows, beyond the reach of the flames as she was, he could not tell what she held in her hands. At first what appeared to be a box was perhaps a funerary urn, or maybe merely an apple.
By J. Otis Haasa day ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
You really do show the intricacies of nature. Good job.
Great 👌
Nice work. Question what was the trigger for this story? You peaked my interests. :)