Delta40
11-12-2012, 07:35 PM
There is no relative
to loss.
No spirit standing by,
except for the many
poured by me.
Cockatoos squawk above,
dragging in the shroud of tomorrow
with their hooked beaks,
while my grieving family
plays an endless game of statues.
Finally the kettle whistles,
releasing steamfuls of hushed secrets
which form puddles on the floor,
but there will be no talk of them
at the service.
Cockatoos squawk outside
our door,
tumbling about like a circus act,
waiting for him to magically appear
on the verandah
to reward them with
handfuls of sunflower seeds.
to loss.
No spirit standing by,
except for the many
poured by me.
Cockatoos squawk above,
dragging in the shroud of tomorrow
with their hooked beaks,
while my grieving family
plays an endless game of statues.
Finally the kettle whistles,
releasing steamfuls of hushed secrets
which form puddles on the floor,
but there will be no talk of them
at the service.
Cockatoos squawk outside
our door,
tumbling about like a circus act,
waiting for him to magically appear
on the verandah
to reward them with
handfuls of sunflower seeds.