Found Poetry from source: “Flowers In The Attic” by VC Andrews (pg 25-31 iBook version).
He was
Like God.

A tall tempest
on tiptoes.

I blinked,
and we said not.

We birds,
perched on a clothesline.
Nothing felt good
in his eyes –

you can’t love
a cold chill, but
the uneasy faces
belonged to us.

We were his sandbox,
his shovels. His pails.



©️ Misky 2019

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