Poetry

Mechanical Lungs (draft)

I gave you my voice

once. You had me

caught and caged,

ready to sing for

you and any audience.

To perform until my lungs

were spent, my fragile

frame shaking, but it made you happy;

I could see.

So I persevered, even though

my head would droop and my

light chest was gripped

with tightness.

Then you were gifted a metallic me.

It astounded you and every

beat

of

your

heart

was ensnared

by the grinding inner workings

as it chirped out

a charming replica of song.

You cast me aside,

I was free to fly again.

Free

to sing when I pleased or sing

not at all.

But eventually, as all things

do, the grinding of fake me

ground to a halt.

And your heart was released

to beat on its own.

The beat was weak.

You realised that it was starting

to break apart.

The cracks had appeared when you first

pushed me aside,

yet the pain was masked by false joy.

I can fix you,

bandage you up will warm trills

filled with spring flowers and

gentle breezes, the chorus of dusk and of dawn.

I can heal you.

Will you ask?

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