The winged things

Feathery worries

Ills of the world

Released furies

Moth like

Tearing holes in the future

To feed their ravening savage mouths and starving offspring

A plague of stinging hornets

Free to fly and drop their bombs of despair where they will

And yet beneath this hateful cloud

Lives hope

Crushed but never defeated while it lives

Yin to the vile Yang

Fluttering slowly behind

Always there until the very end

A tiny crumb of comfort

Oh Pandora

What did you do?