The lump in the concrete...only just
Hollowing its cave-like mouth, in deep-hanging crevices
Grass on, and under it,
scattered dandelions, whose severed heads are a song to their scaffold-stems
lying like sacrificed soldiers on the battlefield.
Moving on
to the sight of the second and third squadron
of white-haired, giraffe-necked brothers-in-arms that stand at the lions' gate
in an inter-galactic war.
This field is open to more than one ending.
The hunter - out and about.
A sheepish walk, more of a sneak,
In a world soon populated by uncaring beings that could get their hunter down in one shot:
betrayal of the underprivileged, caged in domesticated looks, trapped to no escape.
Those loyal to death, and, admittedly, to each other, will continue to sing
-As black-feathered as they are-
And while this (living) flow has the mind of a thousand breaths and the soul of a gasp,
once the world has come to its middle ground, still green, still young,
it will die into a new one!
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