Birds of a feather flock together, but yet
birds of a song sing alone forever
and flying along is not a regret,
but singing alone would be a never.
The sun is a shining beacon of hope
for the bird that sings alone sings of love
its twittering about means of no mope
its love; its life; its song- and much thereof.
Hoping for chances mean nothing and less,
no problems or anything singing songs
enigmatic notes sound of happiness
and the song, flight, hopelessness would be true.
Lesser yet, the bird song of happiness
is broken in ways of hatred endless.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If anyone can figure out what's special about this poem, PM me and get a prize!
 XxFragmented_RealityxX · Wed Apr 22, 2009 @ 09:17pm · 0 Comments |
