Shot from the Clouds

A dead bird. And some other animals violently assaulting things.

Shot from the clouds

Justled out of white clouds and grabbed by iron fingers,

Bristled face lullabied by soft grass, green grass, now red,

Smoke trails through the canopy, the smell of gunpowder lingers,

Straddlers drown in their own sweat and their bodies fed

To rats that dig their graves, fooled by Ignorance, they are lead.

Twisted claws dig inside the empty coffin, scratching the wet wood,

Splinters fly, blinding the eye, while choking on the odors

Of wet September, above, with smoking gauntlet Death stood,

The brooding figure, dismantled, fluid black, eyes like red embers

Harrowed by a fire so far away and infinitely bright, devoid of any borders.

The tiger beheads the ogre, the lion drowns in the Rhine.

Beggared crows peck at the hand that throws,

Red wolves dance in eyre of stampeding bulls,

And, and, and the bird chokes.

Author's Note

Another very old poem. Wrote this in English in elementary school.