Master's makeshift meal
Weeds whistle with the widow
Mourning matter makes

The neighbors seem so vivacious
As they mull about outside my window,
Sun kissing their skin.
The mothers cling to their children,
And sweat clings to the aching muscles of workers
As they bustle,
Hustling mattresses out of the house
And building supplies in.
We exchange cautious smiles
As I sit here in the staleness of my room,
The monotony of this routine.
They are so alive.
I wish I was too.

You glisten
like the midnight sky,
skin reflecting moonbeams
shimmering metallic
coating my lungs
with gossamer starlight
as you breathe out
and I breathe in
and I'm left
shaking bits of cosmic dust
from my hair

Blond bird flew the coop
Confused and abused
Had to find a new use, a new truth
A new page, some new sight to see
Someone else to be and set free
Because his book was read and framed in flames
Always fashionably late
He conquered and became
All the strange
All the strays
And then blew away with the wind one day
With only whispers left in his wake