Kite kite up in the tree
I see you, there, waving at me.
Looks like the wind got you into its grip,
Blackening your eye and fattening your lip.

The child who brought you has gone away
Leaving you to endure the night and the day.
Tangled, mangled, and teased by the wind,
You’re now imprisoned by indifferent limbs.

This is not the life promised when it all began.
At least you didn’t end up in a garbage can.
You transgressed no one, you committed no sin
You only wanted to dance in the wind.

Your final resting place affords a great view
Of all that is happening around, without you.
Propped above the path, observing all you like.
Waving to me as I pass by on my bike.

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Matthew St. Amand

Matthew St. Amand

Husband, father, amateur ghost hunter, online-ordained minister and writer. Learn more (but not much more) at www.mattst.biz