A Bird's Eye View

A little bird has flown the nest to seek a world of wonder and spreads her wings 'neath skies possessed by lightning bolts and thunder. She flees approaching hurricanes her feathers, white, aflutter, and travels over vast terrains of broken stones and clutter. And though she swoops to skirt the curse her hopes are torn asunder, for on the ground’s a universe of raging death and plunder. The sands below have hid all trace of olive trees and clover where splintered bones now span a space which rolling dunes pass over. In search of silent secrets stored by enemies uncertain the loons will surf with waterboard, well masked behind a curtain. Beneath the bats that flee in fright from hell that’s in the making (so hot, the corpse of night ignites), the thread of life is breaking. A sudden burst and numbing noise (replacing sounds of laughter) lead army boots o’er children’s toys debouching towards disaster. Barrages break and rivers bleed in everywhere down under but nonetheless there’s flesh for feed wherever buzzards blunder. The aged, youth and embryos, through wanton death, are waning - the vultures, hawks and ebon crows, well fed, are not complaining. As carnage spreads (like ancient plagues), a virus cruel and schlepping, the lanes are lined with shattered legs where e’er the goose was stepping. A ducky quacks in hot pursuit while seeking help and shelter, but wizened owls give not a hoot in worlds so helter-skelter The consequence of pillages, where love of man surceases, are craters, onetime villages reduced to tiny pieces. The gardens, white, where lilies bloomed, now fallow fields of ashes, are catacombs of cities doomed 'neath sonic booms and flashes. Survivors traipsing place to place like nomads forced to wander, are searching for a piece of peace within the distant yonder. A savage world in smithereens with olive branches burning - disgruntled doves endure these scenes through endless years of yearning. The Gods of birds are of no use, inept like Those of others - so foes attack, with blessed excuse {both sides claim right inside the night!} while earth, in embers, smothers. Epitaph The cuckoos covet kingdom come while roosting on a rafter - there’s food for all, though only chum, in birdy-land hereafter.