By CC, Foundry College
The four walls I am enclosed in have ripped wall paper and scuffed paint which was once a soft baby blue,
The cuckoo clock on the shelf strikes the hour two.
The neglected walls gradually turn see through.
I see happy people; I recognise the faces but cannot make out who.
I reach out to have a clearer view,
I scream for them to help me to the other side.
They begin to walk away and my heart breaks a little inside.
The cuckoo bird returns inside the clock; a tear falls from its eyes and its cuckoo song abruptly stops.
Time goes by and it is now 5 o’clock.
Again, the cuckoo bird appears from its clock.
The walls are clearer than before and sitting on the other side of the wall is my childhood self playing with the cuckoo clock on the shelf.
I try and get my attention but the little girl begins to cry.
The walls turn black in front of my eyes.
‘Cuckoo, cuckoo’ it begins to cry; sad little bird because its broken call will never be heard.
Someone free it from the clock and let the sweet little bird reunite with its flock.
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