POEM STARTER
Write a poem in a different genre to your usual comfort zone.
This poem can be in any style and with any theme, but try to write in a genre that you wouldn't normally try.
Blank
A locked bird in a cage,
bound to fate
shackles I can’t escape
Tick tock, goes the grandfather clock striking twelve
The day finally arrived
The minute hand ticks onto twelve
emptiness gnawed at me, beckoning me. Crooning at me.
Finally, came the day,
A Monday
Shackles clattered against the cage, rattling loudly
I stared at the wall blankly
the hourglass on the nightstand cracked
sand seeped everywhere,
The color was different
It was obsidian
Thunder rumbled outside, and
rain pattered against the windowsill
A crow perched and cawed.
I looked at the window
The crow cawed again
Twice it cawed
Twice the clock struck twelve
Then the sounds stopped,
Completely.
Another crow joined.
Then another and another.
Staring at me. Cawing at me.
In those black beady eyes.
I went to the bathroom to clear my head
Submerged my head in water.
there was nothing, only crystalized mirrors.
only there I was nothing.
a fickle. a speck.
mirrors shattered,
There I looked at myself. Screamed. Clawed at myself
Veins bulging all over,
flesh stretched and reshaped
Body hollow
A monster, they called me
The only good part?
The distorted face.
A swirling vortex. I call it Mr. Swirly
Another came along.
Then, it died.
Months later, I was the only one.
I watched it slowly turn to dust.
Running water woke me.
No mirrors, no monsters.
Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, to see myself all gaunt and pale.
It was night,
Still.
I went back to bed.
The crow cawed a fourth time.
I woke up irritated
Those black beady eyes, staring into my soul
It ruffled its feathers.
I never left. I stayed.
tomorrow was another day
Another Monday
The locked cage was splattered with blood
Shackles torn, only a crimson stained feather left
murder of crows cawed around the house that day.
I blinked my eyes for the last time,
the room went dark,
The grandfather clock was still at twelve.
I actually never left. I stayed.
The crow flew away happily from the windowsill,
letting a loud caw with a pair of human eyes and a wide grin on its forehead,
letting out a bone-chilling laugh in tandem.