Rising to the birds,
that sing a song or two,
weak from that slumber,
as the day begins anew,
Rushing in a frenzy,
a sleeping bird awaits,
our paths eagerly cross,
to share the same fate,
Raving to the passerby,
that walks idly blind,
dashing swiftly through a crowd,
half woken decrepit minds,
a veritable sickness that I feel,
the sleeping bird awakes,
the last call for alcohol,
begins to fade away,
As I fast break down the tile,
disgruntled faces float,
a premonition to be mine,
eating every crumb of hope,
Much to my dismay,
the bird begins to sing,
passerbys begin to shout,
obscene and profane things,
A familiar look I begin to see,
on every person around,
in every spirit that loses glee,
no longer makes a sound,
A lesson for sure has not been learned,
as though, it should really be,
blame the one that missed the turn,
The one you hardly see.
Ezekiel Xander
About the Creator
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Comments (1)
What a morning! Driving and walking while sleepy is hard. Nice poem.