The Age of Ruffled Feathers


United States
34° 16' 15.7368" N, 118° 36' 53.316" W

I see a space 
where no great thought floats among stray feathers 
where loud sound chases great stings away 
Pain cannot stay here in the vacuum of this tainted room 
tainted minds groping numbness 
great feeling no longer known 
any feeling taken for pennies 
the machines we’ve become saving copper for gold 
reason for completion 
meaning for more 
I sense fury underneath their feathers 
fluffed and colored smothered feathers 
wings moneyed to withstand all weather 
whether or not the heart can stand the storms 
Lightning catching at their metaled breasts 
thunder crashing out to shatter the bent, 
reaching all ears of the broken and the fixed 
but quickly quieted by the syncopation of frenzied emptiness 
seeking yet another flash of fear 
for fear is a feeling, pennies greeting 
I see a light 
it blinks with every empty word spoken 
broken are their means to comprehend the newness 
of a growing planet; a rising and falling race 
yet they communicate and feed off of the blinking lights and the radio thunder 
sinking souls drowned in sorrow incompatible 
nothing left of what they once were 
greed the spark that charges this molded people 
Metal they have, flesh they remember 
Metal they possess and flesh they crave 
Self-inflicted illusion mending only their eyes 
while the feathers flee in a smoky breeze 
I know no end to this voiceless pleading 
this seizing of the weakness and words misleading 

words are said, small words with much volume 
in what would have been in the proudest of voices 
choices seemingly a flailing, failing thing of the past 
but to my ears, I hear a metallic clash 
a sign that my humanity is meant to last 
past the present, through the hundred storms  
through the birthing of metal from flesh  
through the conversion of metal from flesh 
through the malfunction of metal from flesh 
I fear no conversion 
I seek the fallen and help the sick 
My voice remains soulful and my singing brings life 
my shield remains guarded by metal that breaks for itself,  
metal that takes comfort in the feathers I grow 
naturally, from spirit 
I am earth 
to them, I am pure and precious 
to them, I am a soul untouched 
A soul to be salvaged among scraps 
a savior, possibly, if they had such thoughts 



My Life is His

That was really beautiful :)

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