PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A golden oriole opened my cage
briefly, six bars of a song, his black
wings eclipse those of war. I have
died six times as ennui rips another
ghost whose wrist aches for the presence
of the orioles yellow breast to unclench
the unresting fists of battle-to slip on a 
gold ring as war marries war.

i spot an owl one night on the hunt as I seek
a fire-fighter to locate the elusive flames that
burn within. Tears cross the sky, fire falls from
clouds. I have one type of madness that seeks
a sane reflection. How insignificant I seem against
the bonsai sun of the oriole's yellow plumage, this
war just another distant scream of a planet orbiting
the sun.