Oona Griffin Poet Rhyme

The Feather

A rage of weather is tethered to my ribs, 
            held by a soulful feather, silent as a dead foe. 
It will totter to tatters but 
always get better, but 
                        always gets wetter. 
It is a feather that irks the ribs, 
bothers the heart, lures the throat to a close, and 
      sucks damp air from between my fettered ears. 
            It is a feather that can never untether 
                        this rage in my head or
else it would burn, 
            burn, burn
      to a 
            crisp.

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Beata Agustin March 1, 2023 at 4:51 AM Thanks for sharing this... exposing your thoughts through your unique poetic style. Welcome to Poetry Soup. I welcome you with the love of the Lord, expressed by John 3:16 of the Bible, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." God bless you.