Tired

I rest my claws,

On the overhead cables

That carry

Power to the city

Which thrives on it

To become

The hypocritical paradise

Of people

That complain by the day

And laugh by the night,

Rebuking their companions

For treason

Which half of the time

Exists

Solely

In their minds.


Sometimes

The sky

I have called my own,

Feels so empty,

Aloof and lone

Now the skylines

Backdrop of grey

Draw borders

On the blue

As if

It's catching prey

To the beauty of 

My home.


A long time

Has passed by

Since the last time

Descendants of

My kind

Have known

What the sky feels like.

The motors

Of their flying machines

Cut in admist our conversations

And sometimes

Through our souls,

But seldom do we

Sing our pleas

To them,

In hopes

One day

They will understand.


Then they come

With metal claws

That shreds

Our green friends

And they 

Claim

Their terrestrial territory too

And we wonder,

Do they not see life in us?

Or our emerald buddies?

I saw them

Offering food to us

And then

Comes a netted blanket,

The ones who are engulfed

In it

Are then seen

Taking last breaths

In the caged 

Expanse

At their mercy.


Sometimes

I ask 

My beloved

Whether they know

Not loyalty

Praise no beauty

Or hath no morality?

And she 

Turns away her beak,

To express her disapproval

And my faith

In humanity,

Is reflective

Of her sad glares.


Then 

I stare down

At the city,

And I spot

A four legged friend,

With a woof,

He goes and by 

The road,

Caresses an abandoned newborn,

As the sun

Burns against the

Little life's cheeks

He guards the baby,

And I think

There's enough 

Of everything

In the world

That exists,

We are searching 

For right things,

In the wrong places