Hummingbird
When I was young,
I was special,
not special in a good way.
always late everywhere,
always stuck in my world.
I could look at things
in the courtyard,
in the streets for hours.
lines would run
along each leaf,
or brick in the path.
Sometimes, I thought
there were voices,
not ones that would help
me save the world,
jumping building to building,
but two ants playing
tug-o-war over one twig,
hummingbird,
hovering in suspended time.
Some parents might worry,
ask Physicians to prescribe
new medication, untested,
but my mother said no.
She bought me a camera,
I shot things instead
of looking.
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.
