Summer

I speak but noone can hear

I flap but noone lets me out.

I want to fly,

free into the big blue thing,

sometimes it changes to dark.

that’s okay. I’d rather be

up high, away from this black prison.

Big things moving,

Help let me out I squawk

but no help.

Do I stay here till I die?

all I want to do is fly.

DWTSmith. #poetrymonth