1.
So many quiet deaths
in the night dark
no screams no pleas
no sirens wailing
and in the morning
a smear of blood
a handful of iridescent feathers
someone sleeps replete.
1. (eight lines)
Published by
1.
So many quiet deaths
in the night dark
no screams no pleas
no sirens wailing
and in the morning
a smear of blood
a handful of iridescent feathers
someone sleeps replete.
Poetry and Images
My thoughts, ramblings and others are here, with no particular logic or order.
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or a White Other or an Eastern European
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offbeat words for you...
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Jane Dougherty Writes 
It’s another world.
It is. Not as cruel as ours though.
That life is of a piece. Ours is in pieces. (K)
I know what you mean. It’s as though there are no rules governing us at all. No natural laws, just arbitrary man-made laws that change from day to day.
Exactly.
Meow!!