Bruise that ran deep

Big brown eyes,

Broken nose.

The cat looked up at me.

I thought to myself,

She belongs in prose.

The wondrously wide eyes

Caught my sight everytime,

I passed the garden of vines,

With tendrils springing low,

And a small furry face,

hidden beneath the growth.

It would vanish when our gaze met,

Afraid of the danger that might come with.

It scuttered away, bouncing on its paws,

Thinking it was invisible when it broke all laws.

Today the brown halo locks eyes with mine.

The squishy nose that dripped of milk,

Leftover I left on the windowsill,

Now drips with blood.

The fruit vendor threw her shoe,

And poor Miss Kitty got bruised.

I advance my hand and she retreats,

To live uncomfortably,

Among the comfort of darkness.

For she no longer believes in kindness.

(This poem was written on 4th November 2021)

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The Modern Fable

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