Poem // Feathers

An uneasy contentment
sits restlessly,
perched without feathers
in the soul.

Trust doesn’t come easily
to we few but many
who learned long ago
of the ephemerality
of joy.

Yet still we try,
chipping at brick and mortar
inadvertently constructed:
The last line of defense
morphed into a prison.

So we sit,
trying to engage,
to spark a light,
to break down walls,
and let hope settle in.

©2017 Melissa McLaughlin
Written April 13, 2017

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