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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
| Hope is the thing shotguns aim at Hope is a shotgun Hope gets dinner Spitballing... hope hunted i took shelter in a welcoming tree, drawn out, speckled plumage growing fresh feathers, squawked my awkward tune. seed meant for brighter songbirds, i gobbled in content in the colored, yellow spaces at dawn. warmed by currents to commune amid odd ducks who somehow swam with swans and would bloom beyond flamingo waders harvesting plentiful shellfish. i crowed from shadows of sheltering branches, hopped to the edge of limbs with view afforded of all inhabitants preening. hope, ruffled in cold, shrill winters, invisibly howled. soiled leaves, couraged by color, tacked to bare ground where I spent too long, refining an awkward song. through seasons weathered, why don't i fly? hope consumed joy in a small heart, planted in seed scattered? lead from a bullet fed i couldn't feel in my heart? confined in the safety of dry branches, foolish to feed myself hope, trust the outstretch hand, i rest, matted in a cold nest of dry stick and mother's collections. melt away from me, the years it took to consider hope is the thing that steals dreams, starve a misguided bird that can't inform its feathers. |
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