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Senseless Slaughter of Songbirds
Somewhere within this small town
E c h o e d the breathing cadavers ambling through the
Never-ending suffocation delivered by the
Seas of daunting whispers and enervating glares and yet
Everyone is turning, turning, and reluctantly advancing
Like the relentless cadavers they are,
Eradicated, broken, yet unstoppable.
Slowly, unknowingly, they are dying, beaten…
Stripped off of the only PRIDE they own.
See the fight; the war raging on inside –
Life-long mortifications are engraved within the
Abyss of their heart and color alone.
“Get off my face!” a norm would rant
Hating every stride, diction and style they hold.
They “say” it’s a sin to kill such a lovely creature
Except when implied with ones who are clothed black or with
Obliteration of those who don’t fit the perfect puzzle
For them, is the only solution for a consistent, absolute community.
So they WHISPER and SHOUT and GLARE and HATE with no end
Only assuming the meaning of purity
Never will they win the world, nor will they understand if
Genealogies must be consistent and alike.
Birds, there are tons, willing to sing songs for them
Instead, they choke their ears with plugs
Radically saturated with deprecating idealism
Drowning the songbirds in
Seas of swords; killing the cripples.