Monday, January 25, 2010


it sings it's song in a silver tone,
full of bliss, marked by desire.
it's name is love, the tiny fowl
a hypnotic song all did admire.

I used to hear, but have since been deafened
notes gone awry, fate did contort
the bird, the prey. and hate the hunter
a tune, a life, a hope cut short.

1 comment:

Eva said...

You are a wonderful poet. Your words are so delicately powerful.