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 hands
the poor little dove
could not get up again
so i put a splint of his wing
and fed him bird seed
when 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 away
but now what i see
disappoints me
i see the same dove i helped
break the wings of other birds
to see him do so
is a kick to my stomach
i wish to have never helped that dove
and let him starve alone
now he brings others down
to the place he once was
i dont understand bird talk
theres no telling why
to 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.
