Windswept Wings

Windswept Wings

 

Birds;

we hear them but they are second nature,

two birds go erratic and fly into doors and window pains.

By the bay,

people stop and stare up,

into the morning light.

Your ears blaze with deafening sounds,

all which you have never heard before,

until this anonymous day.

A wall of smoke sends ants scattering,

through a maze of concrete,

devil face peering out of the rubble.

The birds have gone stir crazy,

out of the normal day of flying,

here to there to death now.

They rip at the human heart,

hoping it will die;

ants are dead,

pumbled by lies and smiles.

Like pompei we are stone,

and for a moment the world goes black,

silent forever.

No breeze or twittering of voces,

the birds swarm to nests waiting through,

anonymous days ahead.

Beaks sharpened, and wings are spread,

it is only time,

night falls below the surface,

and it is a Saturday.