Call of the Nightingale


Wearing ripped jeans, a black shirt,

She cupped her hands to catch the droplets,

But the water always bled through.


She tried to run away

from the rain,

the pain,

the never-ending days



the same,

To a realm of unknown,

a new beginning.


But her shirt, weighted down

by wet

Made her chest heavy,

her body

a dead-weight.

There were limits

with earthly bodies;

This, she came to realize.


As the sky rumbled for revenge,

brightened by white streaks of terror,

She imagined her body warmed

From head to toe.


She was the shadow no one saw,

the footsteps no one heard,

A nightingale who sang at night,


of a forgotten lullaby.

Every rumble she would fight,

every whisper she would reply,

Save the girl out in the rain,

It is not her time.

But Prince Charming did not come tonight.


In a night as dark as her hair,

with her hands still cupped, paralyzed,

She lifted her head

to bid a farewell,

And drank the sky.





Inspired by the DailyPost prompt Darkness






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