Purple Dove

That purple dove,

It stands impatientely by my window

Its right wing tore

I wait for it to fly away,

It never leaves

What does it want from me?

It rarely makes movement,

And never makes a sound

Waiting there for an eternity,

No love

No spouse

No freedom

Its there when it rains

Its there when I cry

Its there when I hide from my family and friends

But It never questions me,

It never feels my pain,

Maybe its because I have no intrest in its problems?

Or maybe its because it's a lowzy old purple dove, made out of clay?

 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

You brought me in with a very good story. The ending was outstanding. Description and the story was strong and held my attention to the last word. A excellent poem.
Coyote