Pt. 1, A Bird In Death
Over days, a bird so risked in joy Come windswept over everything again Eternal flight into a quick release And land on the broken ground below Dark but quiet, brave but overwhelmed Softly ache into a passing morn of sage From birth to full breasted twitting rage Be damned cruel earth that gave him life And took it easily without a sign Will for the beak of prowess be his light And turn his death into funeral marches for those contrite.
Pt.2, Old Bodies Worn Out
Then a new light left its mark Redeemers of the previously compassioned Into eclipses shadowing the smiling sun From when it grew up bright, and became The mind’s fuel for a shallow sentence shared No mist on a tongue, nothing on my feet A passing morn of sage, hail for sweet relief Old bodies gripping undertow in gradual escape Tired men captured in a cage of forlorn hate Shouting like they would at teenagers so outpaced From the light of morning’s right, still alive but so decayed.
Pt.3, Every World’s Answer
An answer is a question in reverse We all have theories that we know are right Such is passion for life and to our souls These theories bind like plasters on a wound, Keep the cut safe for a while but ultimately rot Away with time. Make up everything if you like Through lack of stress, i shall digress. Every world’s answer comes with a million clues, A millions clues you do not use For that would paint a picture quite untrue And salvage nothing out of your excuse A passing morn of sage, come rescue in the haze And all the questions laid, come answered by the dawn of day.