Quietly she sits
in a the roar of society
Keeping to herself
Invisible to the passerby's

The wall feels the curve of her spine
and the ground bounces her foot
cracks in the cement keep her gaze
People passing and not seeing.

But I see her.
She has the aroma of anticipation
and the look of flight
Waiting there for her signal to take off.

The squeal of brakes are heard
brown eyes snap to see the sound.
Inexplicably grabbing her bag
Tightening her fist
with the contortion of uncertainty

What is she waiting for?
Here is her chance, her destiny
She struggles to move
Does she need a push like a baby bird?

Go! Go my feathered soul.
Don't hesitate
Don't look back
Answer your calling
Run! Jump! Soar!

Crusty brown mud covers injured soil
stopping the red roses from blooming.
Shovels pry at the ground
desperate to feel the thorns.

Tortured and torn;
the dirt is slowly dying
as roses roll down hills
leaving trails of red petals.

Staring above;
Enjoying the sensation
Loving the beauty
And fighting the desire to continue.

Calm winds carry voices;
Quickly the petals are washed away
and roses are plucked
as new mulch hides
The abused soil.

Watch the dirt heal
Wait for the chance
Take the shovel
And dig up the red roses
Relish in the thorns
And repeat the damage.