it was eyes,
everywhere each one
attached to a beak, each beak
trilling so shrilly, chattering
in clakkety chirp-chirruping
in brackish raucous screams
loserloserloserloserloser
this forest was once a place
of wonder and the night
so full of promise but now,
it’s like the stars have fallen
from the sky and become
these birds, these birds with eyes
and beaks and nothing to sing,
just screams in a trackless forest
with a past turned out to be a dream
and a future that’s just a strip mine
yet unzipped, undug, yet torn open
and a present consisting of merely
the sound of these eyes so sharp
and beaks blunt just like red clubs
and no melody down here in sight
Charissa's Grace Notes 
Any chance you’ve read the Hunger Games? Something about this reminds me of the Mockingjays and Tracker Jackers in that series. Random, right?
I know you wrote this poem during a horrible day – since then, I’ve witnessed you put on those BGP and rock right through the storm. Don’t listen to the silly beaks…unless they say “winnerwinnerwinnerwinner” xoxoxox
OOooohh! I HAVE read hunger games, when it first came out. How interesting it brought that to mind!
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