London Poem: Day 322

5 July

Gentle starlings graceful fall
Breaks such a little beat
While offering no softness,
No reprieve.
But, what does a body need
To survive?
The twittering collapse?
The last minute flutter to
Starve death for another day?
Always will humans be a flock of
Small stuttering birds,
Fighting and fighting
Until there is nothing left
To fight over.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

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