Let Them Fly
My head, now a boiling cauldron
From my pen, thoughts bleed red,
in a broken stream muddled up
They do not have a neat flow
They come out in squirts,
leaving scarlet stains,
a monochrome of blotches of hurt and sadness
Still I feel such instant relief,
as the latch of a cage being unfastened
to let out the birds of pain fly far
March.9. 2022
New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
Copyright © Valsa George | Year Posted 2022
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