366 Poems: September 11th, 2016

Cuckoo Birds

I haven’t yet turned 21,

and still I lost myself

on a Saturday night,

laid in the arms of an angel,

fell asleep on a bed of feathers,

and woke up

to the sun.

But the light was not blinding enough

to hide the room,


Or the bed filled with cuckoo birds

and a face I no longer


And if you thought it was his, it was not.

It was mine.

Because try as I might,

I still can’t escape the calling



of time.

“A cuckoo-clock heart”


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