Dear Life
On the wings of a blackbird
I pinned all of my hopes.
It flew to a neighbor's yard
with its throat filled with song.
On the wings of that blackbird
desperate hope hung for
dear life. Was it pointless to
hope and hope every day?
The television lied and
lied about America.
On the wings of a blackbird
I pinned a love letter
that no one would ever read.
The Piker Press moderates all comments.
Click here for the commenting policy.