The Victim Is Not Me【POETRY】
The Victim Is Not Me
Wings fluttering,
It’s always a sprint.
The mother sparrow cries
To where her fledglings lie.
Faster before it’s too late;
The hawk has found home.
She sees it before it happens:
Sharp talons with no malice.
The simple hawk is just hungry,
Though he doesn’t know who he is eating.
In her mind, the sparrow sees
Red twigs not from redwood.
The stress of her children’s peckish wails
Meant nothing to their dying screams.
She was too late.
Wings fluttering,
It’s always a sprint.
The mother sparrow cries
To where her fledglings lie.
Faster before it’s too late;
The hawk has found home.
She sees it before it happens:
Sharp talons with no malice.
The simple hawk is just hungry,
Though he doesn’t know who he is eating.
In her mind, the sparrow sees
Red twigs not from redwood.
The stress of her children’s peckish wails
Meant nothing to their dying screams.
She was too late.
Comments
Post a Comment