as you looked at
your crystal clear reflection,
your eyes eerily laughing
and your lips curling
into ravens' wings,
you saw sweaty faces
and callused hands
working up and up
the empire state
tap tap tapping
unconciously worshiping
you
at the top
you saw yourself
as a bird
looking down on new york
invincible
but as for
i,
old friend,
you were the storms,
the fear
of the children
the flames
the destruction
of the city
below
you were the one
bystander
watching as the
callused, salty men
tap tap tapped,
wondering why
you couldn't snap
the cord
and watch one fall
to paint the sidewalk
red
its not an assumption
either
i mean
that's exactly what you did
because of
you
ive never seen
so much
of my own
red
YOU ARE READING
Speed of Sound
Poetry"There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed." a collection of capricious drabbles. © Valarie Rae, two thousand and thirteen.