Wings of feather,
Wings of leather,
Wings bind me to the Earth
To burn, to freeze
To leave behind the homes I’ve burned
With words of opinion
Words of wrath
Words high on pride and clothed in glory
Hopes dashed on their keening knives
Hopefuls live and love and die without the question “why?”
I thunder past in rage and full-fledged hate
Then they resume their lives
Like busy little bees in plastic, hopeless hives
I’ve left myself little, and the rest of you even less
Forgive and forget, if that’s your thing
But my target remains the things that drive
They drive us to move, to act
But never implore us to think
Consider
Not once to question “Why?”
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