"Birds & Moths"
You started out with
Birds.
Didn’t you?
Draped in their fine,
Feathery flamboyant fabrics
Smooth as silk,
(Second-grade silk.)
Their pointed beaks
Weaving their lies
Into an auditory
Tapestry
Each thread a tone,
Each string a tune.
Beautiful and colourful and flowing
(But only to the extent of
Their deceiving coats.)
But it was how they were
Perched, proudly,
On the top
Of the display cage,
Shadowing the falcon, or the
Hawk, or the eagle,
Great birds,
(They will never become.)
That bought you
To buy them
And so you kept them,
Locked.
Behind bones
Carved out of steel,
Their touch
Chilling
To those of your own.
Did you remember to
Feed them?
Did you not hear
Half-starved, frantic chirps?
Did you remember to
Smooth their feathers?
To tenderly caress away
Any roughened ruffles?
Did you remember to
Let them out?
Just once in a while
So they could
Fly
To great heights, to
Soar.
Or at least die trying,
That’s still something.
Did you?
Why didn’t you?
They started out as birds,
So why were they
Moths?
Why did
Vermilions and viridians and
Azures and indigoes and ambers
All fade into
A dusty brown?
Why did
Their pleasantly plump selves
All fade into
Unsightly, scrawny, exo-
Skeletons?
Why were they moths?
When the cage hung
Precariously,
Its handle held pinched between
Furiously fidgeting
Frail fingers,
As you casually pried
Open
The metal door,
Letting them go.
