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