to take a diseased bird in
because his wing is broken
is an act I chose to do
no matter how many times he bit my handsthe poor little dove
could not get up again
so i put a splint of his wing
and fed him bird seedwhen he got better
the bird stuck around for a little while
then he went back into the wild
and i waved and smiled as he flew awaybut now what i see
disappoints me
i see the same dove i helped
break the wings of other birdsto see him do so
is a kick to my stomach
i wish to have never helped that dove
and let him starve alonenow he brings others down
to the place he once was
i dont understand bird talk
theres no telling whyto that dove
i say why
and he replies
with bites and claws
YOU ARE READING
The Night Talks • Vents
PoetryDisgusting and disturbing thoughts turned into try-hard poetry.