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Birdcage
Open my birdcage ribs and out will fly
a thousand black-feathered doves,
more like writing desks than ravens,
talons clutching wilted olive branches
fighting through the dark to carry
a sullen yet ever-meant message:
Peace, despite the pain.
Love, despite the fear.
Life, despite death.
Hope, despite it all.
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There is a man in the garden
He whistles and twirls his legs
dangling over a small wooden
bench like a boy restless
with too much time, but this man
is old, old and gray
and it is almost sunset
and he whistles and he whistles
and he whistles and feels
his heart beating
as the sky starts to lose its color,
he sighs and stops his whistling
and just watches
as the first star comes out
and shines.
