-By Davin Casey
The early bird has risen,
Frozen by the late winter,
Resurrected by the warm heart of the love bird.
His wings hang limp, dead from lack of use,
But his art is the true casualty.
The city beneath roars its beckoning calls,
With its gas guzzlers and sky killers
Murdering his home with their sour breath.
The sky above screams with whistling bombs,
Raining upon the father’s acne studded face,
Lacing nutrition with hydrogen,
Amalgamating him, in holy matrimony, with the atmosphere.
Author's Note: First time posting in the "Teen Spirit" forum, but I am a teen, so I suppose it is appropriate.