These are not the days of your past…

Be warned. These are not
the harmless swans of your
time, these ducks will not
quack around your feet
for bread when they can
instead devour your flesh.
No. Such days of balance
have passed, we live now
behind salvaged glass.
Oh the lulling nature of
serenity and the clockwork
beating of their hearts
as teeth gnash and wings
tear limbs. Still my mouth
salivates for what they once
were, their blood now
diseased, the chem trail
apocalypse the hunted
became the hunter. Bow
now before the Kings
of our time, death came
death took and left
only the zombie of mind.
The geese, the ducks
the royal swans. . .
the seagulls pecking still
at rotting carcases across
our desolate shores,
and so we live now,
shut behind glass doors.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Early morning birds in a concrete city.

Hush. Take pause and listen to the chiming song of the morning bird.
Croning a lullaby of love to our very souls, that silences our fears.
Listen to the beauty that hides in the concrete city that chirps above the mutterings of the faceless crowds.
Hush, take pause. Listen to the chiming song of the early morning bird.