#exploitation - Hello Poetry

I took a dove to be my friend. He had the most enchanting eyes — black as jet, round and bright, that smouldered with an inner light. They say to not befriend a dove, or love a thing so wild and free, but still, I did, and pampered him with everything a feathered friend might need. I fed him rye and wheat, nuts and fruit, and even larvae squirming in the bin, and when the squirrels stole too much I’d crow and shoo them off again — declaring what was just and fair! One day at dawn, a hawk came hunting with the sun, and caught him unawares below my sill — right there, so near, beneath the heartless skies, the faithless trees, that bald-faced window where I frittered at my ease. I stirred too late to see his last faint flap, too late, my fists came pounding on the glass, too soon, I watched his life drain out — and all the while that murderous hawk eyed me with a baleful look, dared me with a cruel smirk, curved and sneering as a knife. Again, I beat upon the glass, and called up curses from the lowest hells, to which that butcher hauled its meat a little further up the branch, and ripped and tore my friendship with a savage joy. How I hated — such a hate! My hate rose up against that devil strutting on its **** And how I loved those soft round eyes, that seemed to shine though deathly still — how they pierced me, bored so deep inside, they tore the sheath and split the seam where all my griefs and horrors lay denied — there, in quiet cubicles and ordered rooms, covered in a deathless sleep. That night, my lover lay with me, and longingly turned out the lamp, but I stayed her hand, and sobbing like a child, told her of my feathered friend. She consoled me first with pithy words and wisdoms kept discarded in a drawer - and then at length she sermonised on nature's whims, and the balance of all things — and best to let it go. And still, she scolded me for being such the fool as takes a dove to be his friend. But when my tears would not be staunched, she kissed my face, and inch by inch, gave me to her sweetness then, coaxed me in with restless sighs and flashed her eyes like dancing knives, and soon began to sing that lullaby that haunts the hearts of men — but all the while, I watched her shadow on the wall swoop and fall extend its claws and rip her limb from limb.

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Apr 30

Apr 30, 2026 at 3:17 AM UTC

Glintspear

My Dove

I took a dove to be my friend. He had the most enchanting eyes — black as jet, round and bright, that smouldered with an inner light. They say to not befriend a dove, or love a thing so wild and free, but still, I did, and pampered him with everything a feathered friend might need. I fed him rye and wheat, nuts and fruit, and even larvae squirming in the bin, and when the squirrels stole too much I’d crow and shoo them off again — declaring what was just and fair! One day at dawn, a hawk came hunting with the sun, and caught him unawares below my sill — right there, so near, beneath the heartless skies, the faithless trees, that bald-faced window where I frittered at my ease. I stirred too late to see his last faint flap, too late, my fists came pounding on the glass, too soon, I watched his life drain out — and all the while that murderous hawk eyed me with a baleful look, dared me with a cruel smirk, curved and sneering as a knife. Again, I beat upon the glass, and called up curses from the lowest hells, to which that butcher hauled its meat a little further up the branch, and ripped and tore my friendship with a savage joy. How I hated — such a hate! My hate rose up against that devil strutting on its **** And how I loved those soft round eyes, that seemed to shine though deathly still — how they pierced me, bored so deep inside, they tore the sheath and split the seam where all my griefs and horrors lay denied — there, in quiet cubicles and ordered rooms, covered in a deathless sleep. That night, my lover lay with me, and longingly turned out the lamp, but I stayed her hand, and sobbing like a child, told her of my feathered friend. She consoled me first with pithy words and wisdoms kept discarded in a drawer - and then at length she sermonised on nature's whims, and the balance of all things — and best to let it go. And still, she scolded me for being such the fool as takes a dove to be his friend. But when my tears would not be staunched, she kissed my face, and inch by inch, gave me to her sweetness then, coaxed me in with restless sighs and flashed her eyes like dancing knives, and soon began to sing that lullaby that haunts the hearts of men — but all the while, I watched her shadow on the wall swoop and fall extend its claws and rip her limb from limb.