Early morning
winter breeze
finds me
wading waist deep
in murky water
where
in the darkness
enticers precisely
placed wait
unwearyingly
to execute their master's
will knowing
from the easter heavens
they will come
in free flight
sounding
a characteristic note
hunting
for mates
while sun's rays rain
among trees
illuminating
hunter-green heads
poised bodies
until
a slight movement
barrel raised
twitched finger weighing
heavily on
aimed weapon
relaxes and pulls
releasing
deafening thunder
then
utter silence
scattered feathers,
Mallards fly no more.
With-the wholeness of my
Eyes-I try,
But this horizon is shortened
and my sight is gone.
Through a skewed world,
I question the air,
and still breathe it's toxicity.
Accepting it's warped days of
fog weighing down.
We are sending
an anchor to hell.
Watching our skies
turn to fire,
and the devil come
to be
But with changing moments, new life, new chances
for a leveling of us.
Nevertheless-poor little hopes,
stand on there feet and fall
from a slanted world.
Learning to walk
a hunched and hazy path.
I ask now with a humid heart.
Will this tiring fog ever lift?
-Waiting on whispers
Will this falling ever ground?
- Wactching unwearyingly
All the while, take short breaths
and weary steps,
Foresaken, the heavy fog
Weighs our world in deaths.
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