Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

The Flute

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
The Flute

It is the whistle of a little bird
It is the ever-changing fish’s skin
The flick of your tongue when you free a word
The unspoken dreams kept safely within

But her laugh only sounds hollow and old
The snow that has fallen clotted with rain
Days a book of stories already told
The joy of summer an old man with a cane

When doing nothing feels no longer pleasant
When I’m a bloom stuck to earth by my root
When fragments of past make me curse the present
Those are the days when I pull out my flute





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback