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Great Writing - Home > Poetry > Fruit Bat
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Poetry
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| Fruit Bat | |
| By Crayfish | ||||
| 08 September 2006 | ||||
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Mmm. I am a fruit bat – The runt of the camp: Angular, peculiar, tranquil, and shy, With chocolate fur and golden-red, leathery wings. Huge, elegant wings too big for my body. I’m fond of venturing far away, From the dense forests and deep caves, Into the attic of an aging house. Dusty records, Old, torn fabrics, Ancient instruments, Relishing the past. Watching the twinkling lights of a busy town sparkle on the horizon, I delight in the unexpected find of fruit. I glide and swoop over lakes, Lap at the cool water, And draw the light of the moon into rings beneath me. Screeching and waiting. Waiting for the sound to bounce back off the moon. I fly but I can’t land. My fragility is coloured by clumsy, twig-snapping dives. Then suddenly the trees far into the magical forest explode with bats, A pillow fight at midnight. My secret flight is over, My comrade, darkness, and I fly back to the group. No one notices me melt into the swarm, No one noticed me leave.
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