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Chris Degon

Particle Bird

 

The Dust on the floor looks like a Dove,

Dead, with its neck twisted

By Cruel Hands.

 

The slightest bit of wind

Moves the particles,

Further Mangling

Its Avian Image

 

Claws tense, feathers askew,

And beak shattered,

The dust stares.

The Dove

My Dove

Pleads for help

 

Out of pity, I blow,

The Dust rises,

The Dove ascends,

Into a million diamond facets

Which Dazzle,

Then go out of focus.

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Untitled

The Jivin' Ladybug- A Skewered Journal of the Arts
 
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