#buzzard - Hello Poetry

0

Jun 25, 2024

Jun 25, 2024 at 9:16 PM UTC

It's quickly unfolding the death of this festering paradigm reviling the corpse of indifference Change come hard while the opposition sleeps time is a monster in a dream wake up!, wake up! is what it screams.

0

Feb 28, 2020

Feb 28, 2020 at 8:46 AM UTC

TravelerTim

Note 57

It's quickly unfolding the death of this festering paradigm reviling the corpse of indifference Change come hard while the opposition sleeps time is a monster in a dream wake up!, wake up! is what it screams.

7

In the beginning the grass had died of embarrassment The rain had dishonoured him And eventually stopped pouring after hearing the tale of it's demise the flowers and their friends had decided that it was not safe where they sat anymore they hatched a daring plan That would lead them far away they would run away by moonlight Then set off towards the northern star The plan was thick and well thought out But when it came closer to the time They realised it was full of flaws As they hadn't any legs to run upon And soon the sun started singing again And they did meet with their sad end Soon they were just a lonely pile of dust upon the ground Where once children had ran and kites wandered high Now loneliness beckoned and the unknown lurked around every corner The two biggest sandstorms in the land had had a disagreement For one had claimed that dusty spot to start a family for his own The other had prioritised a centre for his own defence After a long and gruesome battle Each had killed the other They lay to rest amongst the dust where once the grass had grown tall Now nothing grew just more sand In a prison of freedom Several years later the calm was disturbed by a figure A man who had found himself in a terrible way For reasons that are best unsaid Time had caught up with him at last Marked with the six gunshot wounds which rested on his chest he had managed to fled for his final hour in peace sand and dust floated past his head It clattered and clinked as the wind slapped his dying face Any breath could be his last A speck of blood on the tattered sand a mark of his final place of rest. 'Only a matter of time' Thought the fly As he followed the dying life to his knees For he had long since excepted the fact That the only thing death meant for him was a full stomach It was the sick cycle of life The dusty wind brought tumbleweeds and a few moe grains of sand The fly perched high watched as life escaped the lonely figure On the ground, he might as well have been sand For all the good it would do Flying down like an underestimated dragon The fly landed on the tip of the man's nose and surveyed the scene 'What a sad day to have such great happiness' Thought the fly with a tear arriving at his eye Before long a noise was heard up above A swoop and a stamp A shriek from on top of the fly's tiny head And the Buzzard landed on the other side of the corpse Quick and to the point What a terrifying sight the Mighty bird was to the fly! For he had been unaware that such monsters lurked so near But the fly did not think to run away He was better than that for sure The Buzzard had began to feast On bits of flesh that had been left The fly approached him and cleared his throat The Bird stopped and looked down at the tiny speck of black And after a booming laugh He opened his beak The two sat upon the man Each with itself in gravest mind For each did treasure their families And wished to make cruel gain of the tragedy Eventually the mighty bird acted He was pleased by the death And believed that what the desert offered was worth fighting for The fly however was humble He could see the sadness attached to the sight And as both of them sat upon the greatest and worst part of each of their days They stared into each other's eyes And in that moment they both understood They both took a glance at the disaster and both flew away in different directions Leaving the man quite alone Alone and peaceful The rain had been watching the two creatures decided that too many lessons had been learned from it's absence And before long the grass and flowers had rose again A few days later the fly was swallowed by rich bullfrog Who forgot to wash him down The Buzzard headed north and was met by a boys claim to manhood In the end the grass did sing with delight at being home once again And all this time never did anyone stir from their beds They might as well have been dead

0

Aug 10, 2014

Aug 10, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC

A-Cosmo

The Fly And The Buzzard

In the beginning the grass had died of embarrassment The rain had dishonoured him And eventually stopped pouring after hearing the tale of it's demise the flowers and their friends had decided that it was not safe where they sat anymore they hatched a daring plan That would lead them far away they would run away by moonlight Then set off towards the northern star The plan was thick and well thought out But when it came closer to the time They realised it was full of flaws As they hadn't any legs to run upon And soon the sun started singing again And they did meet with their sad end Soon they were just a lonely pile of dust upon the ground Where once children had ran and kites wandered high Now loneliness beckoned and the unknown lurked around every corner The two biggest sandstorms in the land had had a disagreement For one had claimed that dusty spot to start a family for his own The other had prioritised a centre for his own defence After a long and gruesome battle Each had killed the other They lay to rest amongst the dust where once the grass had grown tall Now nothing grew just more sand In a prison of freedom Several years later the calm was disturbed by a figure A man who had found himself in a terrible way For reasons that are best unsaid Time had caught up with him at last Marked with the six gunshot wounds which rested on his chest he had managed to fled for his final hour in peace sand and dust floated past his head It clattered and clinked as the wind slapped his dying face Any breath could be his last A speck of blood on the tattered sand a mark of his final place of rest. 'Only a matter of time' Thought the fly As he followed the dying life to his knees For he had long since excepted the fact That the only thing death meant for him was a full stomach It was the sick cycle of life The dusty wind brought tumbleweeds and a few moe grains of sand The fly perched high watched as life escaped the lonely figure On the ground, he might as well have been sand For all the good it would do Flying down like an underestimated dragon The fly landed on the tip of the man's nose and surveyed the scene 'What a sad day to have such great happiness' Thought the fly with a tear arriving at his eye Before long a noise was heard up above A swoop and a stamp A shriek from on top of the fly's tiny head And the Buzzard landed on the other side of the corpse Quick and to the point What a terrifying sight the Mighty bird was to the fly! For he had been unaware that such monsters lurked so near But the fly did not think to run away He was better than that for sure The Buzzard had began to feast On bits of flesh that had been left The fly approached him and cleared his throat The Bird stopped and looked down at the tiny speck of black And after a booming laugh He opened his beak The two sat upon the man Each with itself in gravest mind For each did treasure their families And wished to make cruel gain of the tragedy Eventually the mighty bird acted He was pleased by the death And believed that what the desert offered was worth fighting for The fly however was humble He could see the sadness attached to the sight And as both of them sat upon the greatest and worst part of each of their days They stared into each other's eyes And in that moment they both understood They both took a glance at the disaster and both flew away in different directions Leaving the man quite alone Alone and peaceful The rain had been watching the two creatures decided that too many lessons had been learned from it's absence And before long the grass and flowers had rose again A few days later the fly was swallowed by rich bullfrog Who forgot to wash him down The Buzzard headed north and was met by a boys claim to manhood In the end the grass did sing with delight at being home once again And all this time never did anyone stir from their beds They might as well have been dead

93