“Tawny Plumage”

The pendulum swings,

as the butterfly loses his wings.

The moon rises,

a saucer missing its cup.

The second hand chases after the minute,

a fox after the hound.

The street lamps buzz to themselves,

oblivious to anything not in their circle.

Dreams have trust issues,

so they come and go.

Attention is the prize,

a bird preening its feathers.

But nobody wins.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s