Two places to weep
Of sun and moon,
Scorn and solace.
Like featherless birds, we shed something for nothing
As just the specks that flake from skin,
Brushed free from a crown of thorns,
For we don’t even bleed.
Our bitterness accompanies distress,
Fields laced with wire,
Our forms were disturbed without shelter,
Simply as two to create one,
In a paradise of forgotten,
Like children who crawl
To the feet of a savior,
We are helpless.
Peace is our motive,
To see, what a treat
Could bring us up from this downfall,
And speak with open mouths that do not attract the flies.