Of a Bird-less Sky

Of creativity and the imagination

are ever-fluttering wings of life,

pure and innocent,

a surefire distortion

in a conformist sky

full of clouds too jaded to change,

shackled to shades of sullen gray;

running showers of heavy rain;

drowning out the precious seeds of youth

in elderly dreams.

Birds too fearful to fly,

trapped in arms of the mind

of the conscious in control upstream,

forcing feathers to submit

to an endless winter night

till they're all desensitized

of any impulse, 

of every feeling,

fodder for a bird-less sky -

the busted lips of pessimism bleed

over the beaten corpse of creativity.