PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

All I could hear was the sliding of the door as I walked out to my backyard.  The subtle sliding and my footsteps startled two pigeons and they evacuated the dirt to a branch.  Their screechs pinched my insides forcing a small scream.  My lungs erratically pulsating as I cover my chest.  My hand covering my throbbing heart and left breast. I see birds (like them) as rats of the sky.  There happens to be a particular purpose why.  My whole life I've seen them pick and search for meals in the ground.  I've hear them coo and screech an ill-favored soundtrack background.  I've seen a squab fall from its nest.  My dog picked it up like an award for first prize the best.  The smoldering parents began to swoop and pick furiously at my dog.  A broom began swaying with revenge.  The swayer? My mom.  She successfully shooed them away.  Those pigeons unfortunatly lost a baby that day.  I've also seen them starving, stealing, picking at trash.  Absent-mindly flying then diving into windshileds avoiding an unfortunate crash.  In the midst of a bad mood I recall I hit one it died.  You would think an ornithophobe would experience a murderer's pride. An explosion of feathers instantly appeared.  When deep in the dark dwellings of my gut dancing was fear.  The rats of the sky I don't like them around and here in my backyard I stare at two that I found.  One facing North and one facing South.  The smaller pigeon picking its mate with its mouth.  The pigeon being picked only moved its wing with a tick.  The tempo was set to a rhythm of tranquility.  I could see that the tree's finger held more than their stability.  A sense of trust and love emerged.  A striking shock inside me surged.  I averted my eyes.  Sighed.  The rats of the sky I do despise.  I looked up again contemplating why.  Then blood in my brain begin to tingle watching them pick at each other I began to feel a message that made my present situation real...The rats of the sky tenderly picking one another as if they were carefully stitching a covert blanket, a love cover.  As an advocate for perception I discovered something strange.  A premontion I hope indeed can be exchanged.  A revelation that if I were a pigeon on a branch I'd be alone.  Having absolutly no invisable blanket to sew.  These rats of the sky still loving and picking.  While the seconds of my life are burning and ticking...