poetry by j matthew waters

healing old wounds

they think they know me all too well
much like I pretend to know myself
by day flying as high as a kite
string eventually cut by choice
or perhaps let go by accident
impossible to say whether or if
I’ll ever be grounded again

by the time midnight arrives
I‘ve reached the outer frequencies
collecting more than bits and pieces
discovering new ways to smuggle
some back to the home port
just in case I’m included
on their next wayfaring adventure

february two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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