Twist the Loose Ends
Twist the Loose Ends poetry stories
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Autoplay OFF  •  a year ago
for the people who leave and the ones who knew it all along
hold each other in your hearts
and together you will move on
(for my teacher and the woman she will get to be)

Twist the Loose Ends

by Caroline Prank

A caged bird may sing,

but the free ones fly, whistling soft tunes, to the glint in their eyes.

Tell me of the giver in you,

that blows through the trees. Dropping apples at the feet, of the unsuspecting beggars below, choosy as they may be.

You bellow promises of “I'll always have more!”

but I know your branches are empty, and your roots running dry, so may you pick them up and find some land worth this goodbye.

Tell me of the takers you've seen.

How the very best of them, still intend to pay back every sliver of silver. Once, they find the money or the means or the time.

And how the worst, suck your energy and ideals.

Plucking at the unripened fruit, just to crush it under their heels.

And while, they are inviting the guilt of borrowing

unto their backs, do not be fooled. They may take and take, but their hearts will always be empty.

Do not be a ghost, one that does not give or take,

but sits still and calls for names. Without a single penny for their thoughts, or passion for their flame. With apathy being the only thing, they have left in spades.

They live free of petty fighting,

yet free of loving care. A single space in someone else's story. This shouldn't feel like psychological warfare.

If you think,

your aspirations are worth failing for, then you'll find, the path people see as less traveled by.

The hours will be long and yet the deadlines, short.

And I can't tell you, your work will be worth it, but don't waste your time faking what you love, so you'll fit in a line.

Because ask any person,

and they will tell , any road worth climbing, will feel uphill.

Rise ahead, and keep your eyes steady.

I'll hold the door open. He'll hand you your coat. She'll remind us of that phrase people say about one door opening, when another's closed.

It may be 365 days before we see you again.

But if we do find you, at the bottom of our drinks and the backs of our eyes, we'll still know you as the uncaged bird, who learned how to fly.

A caged bird may sing,

but the free ones fly. life is their showcase, and death is their reprise.

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