the wind swept fast
the branches of the tree
they swayed and broke
and fell upon the earth
and landed on
a shallow river bed
the cold and muddy water
splashed and coated
that feathered bird
until it can't fly
until it drowned
until it died
the storm that ravage
that forest green filled canopy
it came and left so quick
and made one nest
all lonely
all empty
unoccupied
the dream we had
of things that
we thought
they ought to be
are not for real
but still
we live in fantasy
my fault your fault
our fault for
it's just a ploy
to play a game
that no one wins
it will just end in
sadness and emptiness
just like that unlucky
bird on air
whose nest, whose house
destroyed by that sudden
gust of wind...
