Category: Really Bad Poetry

The breeze touched my skin The birds sang me their good morning lullaby As I struggled to move To wake To sit To think Freedom to do as I wanted To do as I needed To move as much Or as little As time allowed I opened slowly Carefully

I didn’t know if it would help To call To ask To pray Who would answer? And how would I know? I could feel the grass The trees The wind I could hear them like God hears my prayers.