Grounded

This morning is a bird
with wounded wings
chirping through the grass.

It hopes for flight
but settles for the ground.

Even so,
here I am traveling,
and all I know is
the place where her lips
met my forehead.

Trees pass by
like umbrellas shot from the sky
that opened on impact.

I hope for flight
but run across these roads.

-GD Butler

2 thoughts on “Grounded”

  1. This poem really resonates with my current state of mind. There is definitely a difference between making the best of it and making the most of it (you know the type- so busy searching for the silver lining in every cloud they never notice that the cloud is shaped like a badass rhino.

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