Poetry

Descending

Taking several steps ahead

Into the sea of tranquil blue 

Washing away some of her dread

Its surface she falls right through

Swept up in the steady stream

Bubbles escape from her throat

She is worried but shant scream

Steadily sinking she could not float

Realizing that here she was lead

Light steadily escaping her view

Now nothing could be said

Tears fading in water she should have knew

Choking thrashing her scream silent

Under the water her freedom waived

What was once calm now violent

Forever descending she could not be saved

Frail

In my hands is a dove

A little feathered creature

Looking up at me with such an innocent gaze

I hate it

Its warm body shifts

As it falls asleep in my grasp

A soft cooing noise coming from its throat

It makes me weak

The dove doesn’t fly away

Despite my fingers wrapping around its body

It shouldn't be peaceful in my threatening hold

It makes me uncomfortable

It hasn’t done anything wrong

It stays innocent even as its life is in danger

It doesn’t fight back even when painfully squeezed

It makes me question too much

I want to push it back from me

To destroy its small frame for making me feel so fragile

I want it to never grace my vision again

So that it never makes me feel helpless

Even as its broken feathers fall to the floor

I'm weak