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
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