Lines composed a few miles above the front door of the Tropicana

Oh poor bird, thy flight was wasted...

Under a cloth of gentle light

Bathe in the pond, one bird, no flight

Upon my head, a misty sigh

I am the bird that does not fly

 

A broken wing, a shattered dream

Reflect heaven in her white gleam

I peck across horizon’s eye

I am the bird that does not fly

 

I step onto the neon ledge

Upon my beak the reaper’s pledge

A lonely call from up on high

I am the bird that does not fly

 

A tragic smile upon my face

The fall of old into your space

Unto the earth, I cannot lie

I am the bird that cannot fly

 

I pass the glass, reflected fears

Within their eyes, uneasy tears

Around my neck, no noose to tie

I was the bird that could not fly

 

My wing is healed, but still I dive

Twist and fall to my demise

I smile wide and kiss the sky

I am the bird that will not fly

 

The ground appears, a golden path

I burn into his ashen wrath

I taste the fear fall from my eye

I am the bird that must not fly

 

Into the ground a peaceful rest

My soul returned into my nest

A coward’s worth, a muffled cry

I am the bird that did not fly

 

Under the shade, there is no light

There is no joy and no delight

No end in death, my faint decry

Tricked by life, I chose to die

Reviews

[Crowley]

I am captivated by your ability to stoke the fires of emotion with an unendning supply of weaponry that incldues a napalm bomb (your usual favorite tactic), and this wire trip booby trap of a poem. I was caught off guard and blown to smithreens with the taste of meloncholy dripping from the sides of my mount like an old man chewing tobacco and forgetting to spit. True talent lies in the ability to get a message across whatever the tone or style that is chosen. You are a crazy talent.

[Tommy]

“Suicide is painless, it brings on many changes, and I can take or leave it if I please” (Johnny Mandel).

This is what pops into my head when I read this piece:

this bird a top a building high, no peace of mind to let it fly, troubled hearts fall from the sky, departed world we all must try, ‘cause in the end we’re sure to die…

The noose was tied from the beginning, some just have longer ropes than others…

Great Write E.H.
RLG,
Tommy

[Poetic Beauty]

This is a deep poem filled many different emotions that allow the reader to put their own personal feelings and past into this piece. You do traditional poetry better than I ever hope to, but I always knew you could. This poem flows smoothly almost delicately in contrast with what the poem is about. Death would be better to a bird if it could not fly. 100/100

[Robin]

a jackknife with a full twist into that's it ..

and the scores - 9.8 , 9.8 , 9.9 , 9.7 and a 10 from the russian judge ...

I give it a hundred .

[Jūdan FyreHeart]

F*****g hell, you can do anything you turn that twisted mind to can't you. There just aren't any limits. This was beautifully elegant.

[Brad]

we should call you E. H. Poe after this one. beautifully dark, my friend

[Kerry O'Connor]

Haha! This is a Tintern Abbey for the new generation. You get the Wordsworth Special Award.
(Now take your finger out the eye
of the other stoopid guy,
this bird knows how to fly!)

[robyn.alexandra]

Are you feeling okay? This is gentle, and soft, still truth but bizarrely loving to be your words. The repeated line and rhyme scheme, seem an unnatural production from you, but never the less it is a beautiful well executed piece. A haunting finish to a strangely beautiful piece. "Tricked by life, I chose to die"

Fabulous as always, do your talents know no limits?