A Slow Death
black bird
I see your shadow
on the ground
why would this day
be any different
for you
than any other day
the sky is blue
the wind in your wings
worms after the rain
all the trees are yours
but that’s how it is
you get used to things
as they are
like waking up
ready for bed
and you never hear it
coming
silent as snow
then it’s too late
to cry
or care
the sky so blue
how it felt to fly
when the world was yours
below a dot
just a black dot on cement
like a beetle in the dirt
that tried to crawl away
before it was crunched
into
TL