Why would I ever wanna fly?
It’s the grounds where I find my pretty stones, friends that hold so many stories. Without my ears to listen, their tales would never be told, they wouldn’t even be ghost stories, meant to scare the children. More often than not, I would always leave a lesson, if fools would just stop, and listen. Also how do they expect to eat, if all they caw about is how good it feels with wind between their knees? Fools… all of them… I don’t mind wondering this death ridden streets. The sounds are so peaceful to me. The kids of the town, kicking the homeless man’s cans, who told me he’s been saving all that he can. In hope for one day provide a plate for his little boy Thomas, who’s only dream is to change ‘maybe’s into ‘can be’s. An honest kid, and I do see him getting out of this town, even if it won’t be for long. Don’t you see? By my tattered wings, even the strongest winds only speak of dreams of picking me off these grounds. Pulling out my own feathers, I take the pain to one day show, to those who don’t see glory from their own wings' victories of surviving these Deadman’s Lands’ daydreams. With removing pieces of this dark set coat of mine, gives all that I need to write, line after line; stories that aren’t truly mine, but tales written in blood from a one of a kind, stylized, nevermore settled, mind. I’ve heard from a poet unknown, to italicized lines show to show their importance. Though for me to do that, would leave the page slightly angled and never truly showing the right angle of what is standing straight for whoever is lost, left rereading. As if a crow could ever grow raven wings… sorry that’s my mind flying off subject, again. Stay grounded with me, allow my broken beak to give strength back behind, past broken legs of a hare that is obsessed with racing past unfinished lines. That only seem to ever lead me, down plot-holes about knots being tied between lost souls who fool themselves out of who they should be, to be who they dream to be. The local bar, not too far from the sea is where I spend my nights. Even with being surrounded by so many empty glasses, the sand man never seems to fill me with rest, keep me from drowning.
