I fed my bird the madding moon
hoping that she'd sing in stars.
Now night to night and noon to noon,
she flings herself against the bars
of the cage I built for her by hand.
Its tiny swing that lies of space
and open air hangs limp - she fans
and bloods her wings against the gate.
I dark the bars in hopes she'll sleep -
may her ruffled flutter silence soon!
Then to hear the singing of the stars,
I served myself the madding moon.
A rough bit of madness for Kerry at Real Toads.
I'm featured today at Poets United. Thanks, Sherry!