SuperNova Afterglow: End Of Days

Poem: The Snowy Owl

I hear a lonesome sound
when the wind rustles the trees,
And it's in me.
I sense the giant pines unrest
where birds hunker down;
quiet for more than an hour now.
The snowy owl hunts.
I buried the rabbit's fur
in the dark, silent bed;
spared from my her innocence
She'd hate the feathered visitor,
if she knew of his lust to live.
Why do we have to grow up?
Can we just have our rain;
get it over with?
I could tend to my garden.
I don't like the pines anymore.
They stir something within me
that I cannot silence.




REWRITE


I hear a lonesome sound
wind rustling the trees,
and it's in me.

I sense the giant's unrest
birds hunker down;
quiet for too long now.

The snowy owl still hunts.
I buried the rabbit's fur
in the dark, silent bed.

I spared her innocence.
She'd hate the feathered visitor,
if she knew of his lust.

Why do we have to grow up?
Can we just have our rain;
get it over with?

I could tend to my garden.
I don't like the pines anymore.
They stir something within me
that I cannot silence.


STILL needs work.