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When Birds Sleep
In the hall of revelry misery brews
The man raises his teacup to a toast
It is the toast of death
A canopy of gunshots rings through the room;
Trees overhang casting wraithlike shadows on the ground
They are the shadows of the past
The trees are now cut down
The habitats of animals
within them destroyed
It is the day of devastation for many whose picture got shattered
such fragile glasses meant to toast happiness laid upon the ground in the wine of blood
and misery, taking their last breath
the man swallows the tea of memories
The dark swirling tea of shadows plagued some hunters in the forest of the past;
it was almost as if they themselves, the hunters, were the ones being hunted.
© Tatyanna
The man raises his teacup to a toast
It is the toast of death
A canopy of gunshots rings through the room;
Trees overhang casting wraithlike shadows on the ground
They are the shadows of the past
The trees are now cut down
The habitats of animals
within them destroyed
It is the day of devastation for many whose picture got shattered
such fragile glasses meant to toast happiness laid upon the ground in the wine of blood
and misery, taking their last breath
the man swallows the tea of memories
The dark swirling tea of shadows plagued some hunters in the forest of the past;
it was almost as if they themselves, the hunters, were the ones being hunted.
© Tatyanna
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