And It Is Wet
A hummingbird hovers outside my window
Admiring itself in the reflection
I see its colors shine in the morning sun
Almost hypnotizing
Staring, I wonder if it sees me
Alone behind dusty mini-blinds
Vertical slices of faux wood
Narrowly showing the world beyond
I should smile at this “precious” scene
Spring is near in signs and actions
Yet I do not, I can not, for I despise spring
It is a symbol of life…new life
Life is the darkest thought of my mind’s shadows
What good is it, new or old or otherwise
You breathe, you wake, you want and you lose
Poetic splatters can’t mask these feelings
Pleading images claim all empty fault
As crimson blood runs the gutters
Splashing on concrete cracks twisted about my neck
Laughing from a back seat around the next corner
And still that hummingbird lingers…pointing
Tiny wings move in a rapid dance
It’s red throat casting aspersions in my direction
As I reach for my own…and it is wet, and I am crying
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016
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