You dig a hole deeper than what gravity can hold down;
put your phone down – making those comments just to
ring the crowd up.

You’ll never fly any higher than an ostrich; but you play
their popular myth, when you bury your head in the dirt –
to cover up your face, with false scales of makeup making
up your worth.

Maybe as I missed the translation of when someone says,
“bed” to the word bird – to believe you rest in the nest
of your fears; never to leave that habitat, to soar above
the world.

Seems a habit not to face your fears –
sitting on your wings!

-----------
To sit atop
a throne
of pikes
with swin-
ging ankles
grazing clo-
uds of milk.
Above the w-
eary world, a-
way, way up
high.
------‐----------------------------------------
Looking down at salty, earthed disl-
ikes, and infections rankled. When dre-
ssed in robes of silk, unfurled. Woven fr-
om a lowly worms squirming, teary cry.
-----------------------------------------------------------
­A squ-           And, i-                      Thorn
inting             t's pre-                      curls, r-  
  eye m-           y, all, a-                     ed. As
   akes              re tan                       our flo-
   out a              -gled.                       ck, slow-
   shrike.              ----                           ly, die.
      ----                                                      ----

© poormansdreams

As,
the, curious,
beak, cracks, through,
the shell.
The curvature, splits. Like, a
crooked spine, in, Corruption's; hu
-nched, charlatanic, back. Memor
-ies; scramble. As, yokes, are, unhitch
-ed, from; cheats of burden. They walk,
with, precise, apexed, chins. Held high.
Elevating, to; poached, classy, cultured, chambrés. From, collapsing shacks. I
-ronically, the highbrows, never sense,
the cliffs, as they, edge, ever-closer, to,
their; flipped, scripted, skyscraping,
demise. Now, ovalled. Over. Easy;
is the fall. The, unlucky, Moon,
stays, risen. For, a baker's,
dozened, months. Rot
-ten. Unable to;
evac.

© poormansdreams

I wake to walls I did not build,
A space too small, a name too still.
They call me by a voice not mine,
A shape I wear, but never will.

The world beyond hums soft and bright,
A distant place I’ve yet to claim.
I trace its edges in my mind—
A whispered truth without a name.

The mirror shifts, the cracks run deep,
Yet in them, something starts to grow.
Not wings, not fins, but something else—
A self I’ve always seemed to know.

So let the door be rusted shut,
Let silence press against my skin.
I’ll carve a window with my hands—
And let the light come pouring in.

bluebird courting
on each branch he bobs
up and
down

in the way a little bird collects
sticks and shiny things
I've been collecting anything I see
that might make you smile
I love to think that I could be,
even in a small way,
part of your joy
sneaking my love to you between chirps
stick by stick

The bird flew,
The bird fall.
What’s happened to her?
Did it break a wing?
The bird flew,
The bird was tired,
The bird fall.
Bad luck is the thing.
No bread crumb,
No clear sky…
It’s all gone for her.
Such is the fate.
The bird flew,
The bird fall.
The bird is gone.
That is the end.

If only I could fly
Above the clouds
In the sky
No rain or storm to stop me
Just one goal to be
Existing
It’s the most important thing
Trusting on the feathers of my wing
They take me to the end of the rainbow
North, East, South, West
High or low
I’ll have to cross a thousand seas
To show what its worth
And achieve
Existence