Feeling Alive
A poppet swings upon a paradigm of flight.
Cruising at an altitude below the starry night.
Its wings made out of vines.
Its seat reverberates in oak.
A poppet’s pure airborne oxygen of sight.
3/14/2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
