Three Cheers For A New Year

I hate my moments...

It's the equivalent of black birds
harvested for flying south in the winter-
bitterly released from half-hazard
environments,
shot dead so they'll never leave...
Oh, if you only knew...
I heard the words they breathed
through wind chimes clanking together on
southern porch swings,
they wished for a future free from
misinformation,
because we are, after all, victims
of that kind of crime.
(And aren't we all the culprits
in that worst kind of crime?)
It kills the birds and causes
worms and weeds to steadily
increase in place.
We smell regret on our breaths, a compost heap
unused for anything we
were supposed to give back to...
It causes bile to flip flop in
churning bellies which we mistake
for butterflies fluttering...
... but the butterflies don't
flutter for us anymore,
scared that we are...
that we are the next flying thing
to have it's wings ripped
asunder.
We laugh...
we watch the children
as their wings are clipped early now.
Cries that ruin it for everyone else
echo through urban tunnel ways
as bitter children rush on through life...
as bitter us rushes forward,
we watch them rip the veins from butterfly wings,
killing
 wonders
slowly...

Reviews

[R. L. Ambar]

Enjoyed,
"We laugh...
we watch the children
as their wings are clipped early now." Brilliant.

#-#

Rocher

[Sr.phil]

nice write