To wake into a dark morning was
Being ripped from life by the claw
Of a dreary monster created to kill
What beauty is left.
I cannot reason with the beast. It
Doesn’t understand human language
Nor emotion, nor colour, nor soft
Feathers. It has a beak that moves
Only to hack at dreams and stories,
And under the skin of its black wings
There are the scars of the creator
Who meshed it together from
Fragments of all the wars.
Only dreams can save us.
R 12/10/2023 10:39