Poetry Weekly: 23/01/20

Written by Spyglass Admin

Heron by Katie Fortune

Here I sit.
Feeling glued.
Minutes tiptoe by,
then sprint out of my hands.

Fed up of all these heavy tasks,
I am chained to my chair.
The outside seems so close from my window,
yet so far away.
Far enough for me to wonder
Why I remain seated.
These chains have links, and in the end
These links will lead me farther
than I could ever dream.

I remain, still stuck.
And in a flash he rises,
Swooping past my window,
through the bruised sky.
A heron.

The fleeting glimpse of flight,
Of freedom,
Of his worries as light as paper,
Which contrasts the evening skies.

I rise
and try to chase him to another window,
to catch another fleeting glimpse
of freedom.
But he is gone.
And I have risen.

About the author

Spyglass Admin

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