Rift

Those who can fly: Scream into airy whips
Embrace and forever crave
Beating wings retire tired legs

Those of infant wing unresolved: You fly with audacity and eagle grin
A raptor tears through worried skies
Feared king of the scape
The clouds and stars you'll own
Your blue-black throne

It happened again
The thing that artists seek and know was birthed in weak-willed blood
Trapped ability, a miscarriage to would-be gods who bleed out their chance in hell

There is deficient distribution
Tipped, hard scale
In the 'have' versus the 'want' and the 'do'
Tipped hard, hard scale

Those who can sing: Blister listener ears loud and drown the arias of golden choruses, a thousand pieces
Hoarse angels, by your sonnance, shriek boorishly

It happened again
Chameleon changed disguise again and wriggled away so suddenly, who is to blame?
Abandoner, inherent by birth?
Or by hopeful, blind naivety, abandonees?

Sing up to shake worlds
With lungs that hold the sky
Don't let deterring forces gnarl and brood
Robbing us and you
Us and you

A throat does dry
Still, mute, dead
We mourn the tragic disposal, a gift at impossible odds
Left is brazen, wolfish, hunger here

Kill!

But now the pain of draining debts unpaid still
Severance, letting lives grow crooked and free like branches on the sunless tree
Time will...