Bird of Attention

A poem for "Attention Seekers" unaware of their own tranparencies.

How does it feel?
To sit on a Wooden throne?

How does it feel to wear that Plastic crown?
Is it as shiny as the real thing?

How does it feel to soar through the sky any time anything agitates you?
To soar with borrowed wings nevertheless?

How do you feel when all those eyes are fixed on you?

Does it fill you up?
Are you empty?
Are you really even there?


I can see you, but I really don't see a thing.

I can hear you, its kind of hard not to.
But I don't hear what you're saying.


When the morning comes,
you'd be nothing but the missing piece of a cardboard cut-out.

When the morning comes,
you'd be nothing but a face in the deepest crevice in the walls of all my memories.
Because Brick won't burn as easily.
And Gold won't succumb to the hissing and screaming of the flames...

You're like a bird, right?

Well,
Your wings will singe and dissappear as the flames devour you.
Your fur will curl and scorch,
Your talons will curl and sheathe,
All that's left is cinder,
And your beak will forever remain shut.

Reviews

[ANTO]

Beauty is only skin deep and popularity is fleeting - birds of attention (great phrase by the way) are in the main, just flashes in the pan.
A good observational piece of the fickleness of the spotlights of fame and popularity QuietSeer.

[QuietSeer]

I'm glad to know that there IS still place for a more unorthodox style of writing here on writers cafe. Thank you ANTO.