Gift
He asked for the most beautiful song
but it was dark, and I couldn’t find
my voice. Isn’t that where songs live?
he asked. In place of song, a braided
line of praise will do. But the light
from my eyes was gone, taking with it
all the tendriled vines. So he said,
a sign from your soul. But I didn’t
know I had one, until I reached inside
and pulled out the small aching thing,
hungry as a newborn, perfectly blind.
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.
