October 26, 2015

My First Time Flying

Another witch poem, this time from the younger sister's perspective.  Though it is a companion piece, you'll notice that this one employs assonance, while the older sister's doesn't. 

My First Time Flying

The wind is blowing way too much.
This death-trap that you call a broom
is bucking like a wild horse.
If I fall off, I’m blaming you.

I hold you tight around the waist
and look below to see my doom.
Cat-black pavement fills my sight,
like an unlucky, asphalt tomb.

Now nauseated, I look up,
and I’m blinded as I do.
The setting sun dies bright and bold,
a blazing beacon in the gloom.

I gasp, astounded by this sight,
and wonder how I never knew
how breathtaking it is to fly
above the clouds, below the moon.

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