Page Five

Four birds, flocked together,

All colored of a different feather.

Twirling, and twisting,

Tweeting birds whistling,

Swirled above the head,

of the mind that went missing.

From the grip of the claw

Ink-black blood did run,

Down the cheeks,

Of a Child, but not a Son.

Honeymooning in the daze of a dream

Beneath the light, Night's bright gleam,

the boy lay beside the raptor of rapture,

Imminent danger ceased, it would seem.

Screaming, the boys mind came to,

With eyes stained, to see a new

World built by the many, yet owned by a few.

The boy rubbed his eyes, and and awoke to time,

As the Night gave way to the dawning Day.

Rose to his feet, hands to his knees,

The boy was in heat,

Bent over in an early ray.

The bent over boy opened his eyes,

Stinging pain of flames quelled.

Revealing a Fire's new home inside.

Unsure if Heaven or Held.