Airborne

Finally felt up to writing. And since this is a part of my 21 day challenge, I thought I would share.


Airborne

Birds are singing
The Air is humid and dank

The neighbor has turned her mother into a flower
The trees are putting on airs...
Stained with greed

Early morning sounds of a saxophone being played
With a chipped read...
Between the lines the neighbors eyes
Continued with, " I'm not in the mood to speak,"
Who cares (rhetorically)

When I sat on the quaint green chair
My intentions were not vulnerably bare
I had no cares as to how my mood would sketch me
Against the yellow oak staves

I inject my soul with my daily dose of air...
Of happiness is killing me.
Strangely, it feels good