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.

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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.

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