Young Writers Society

You clay dolls
Swimming around in my head.
You clay dolls
Spitting feathers,

Into bottles
That left
You laughing.



This is the folly:
You've never let go of me.
Our sight is blurry,
But we're still dancing.

Idle fools read
Written letters,

Delivered by a
Man

Wearing feathers.


What is this nonsense?


You've claimed all this
Your own.
But you'll never taste
The flowers of the fruit
Of my mind.

Somewhere in between where the
Ocean and the sand meet,
You'll find me laying
Breathless.

Under the sky
Of lithe temperamental
Dreams of flight,
You'll see me staring up to you,
Wishing for Atlantis.