Nobody cares anymore.

Money makes the world go round
Not the orbit of the sun.
The universe doesn’t matter anymore.

They say that we should keep our eyes wide open
But their eyes are glued down
At the screens that feed them information

Whether it is true or false
We don’t know anymore
We just go with it since we know no better.

As you get older
You accept the world
Instead of questioning it like you should.

So many things you could do
But you are cut off from it
Your eyes are blocked off behind the mask.

I wonder how many miles
Our thumbs must have scrolled
On our screens.

“Look at the moon,” they say
“Of course,” they reply but once they sit outside
They are back to scrolling through their phones.

“Slow down,” I want to say
“Everything will be okay.”
But everyone keeps rushing all the same.

They ignore the skies
And instead find their gold
In cheap, plastic, machine-made stars.

I can fly with birds of sorrow,
I can fly with twisted wings.
I can fly like there’s no tomorrow,
I can sing like many springs.

People are but lonely birds,
Calling, calling, to be heard,
By other birds, by anyone,
Yet each bird keeps flying on.

Not ever pausing, to stop and hear
A lonely voice, calling dear,
The voices are lost, the voices are found
In the sound of the song, the song of the sound.

But I can fly on lonely waters
And stop to sing with lonely souls,
I can linger on the frontier,
And stop to sing, all alone.

I can soar above the clouds
Watching for someone worth singing with
Watching for someone in the crowds
A singer of songs, a legend, a myth.

But the sky is still grey, so bleak and dark,
Of blackness and unwanted things,
So I fly, as lonely as a lark,
Singing alone, on whispered wings.

A silhouette against the ground
Striding across its battleground
Watch it as it comes around
Never lost yet never found

A silver streak against the night
A pounce, a ****, with all its might
A piercing call towards the moon
Through the black, ferocious wood

The wolf is a comet, darting by
The wolf is a stalker, sneak and pry
The wolf is the fox of the night sky
The wolf, the wolf with the hunter’s eye

Of the woods it flies, of the moon it sings
It presides over all the forest things
It readies its paw, starts to spring
Soaring across the sky as if on wings

Ferocious in fight
Tenacious in plight
The wolf is a hunter at heart
Never with the night or the woods will it part.