TJ Dema
BREAD FOR THE BIRDS
BREAD FOR THE BIRDS
It rose above us like a god
I remember thinking what or
who would willingly give wings to such rage
But there it was
and so a benefactor must exist
somewhere behind this communal mirror glass
a huge beastly, angry cloud of a thing
is setting its course
likening it to mine and yours
I remember seeing the sky
as it scrunched its face
filling its cheeks with smoke
hurling rage at every man’s door
at life’s very factory gate
Huffing, puffing till it seized
sneezed, pouring citrus rain upon us
Yet none of us, not one of us knew what to call it
And since that day
it always seems as though
no matter what we do
for each birth
we must give away one more
than we will receive
For each ten dead
perhaps five daughters will be born
to remind us
how we should have held on
to what we had
before fortune called
before tomorrow was gone
For we are but bread for the birds
dead before our very breath is heard
Light as lead feathers lost to the wind
we sink in a quagmire of our own making
To look at us now
we are but jaded shopkeepers
with nothing left to sell
Merchants charmed into
a blind folded trade
against a merciless rage
And the machines
they do not even care
whether we live or die
this war to them
is nothing personal
In this war, to them
we are the ones on a fool’s errand
For when the summer does not an end seem to find
when the ice crackles quiet against your feet of clay
will you know the sound of death coming
It is not loud, or crass
the earth will not crash, upon itself
to warn you of your folly
The wind will no longer howl
her protest at the closed window of your soul
And when hot becomes the new cold
will we remember then what the prophets of old foretold
how they spoke of an ungrateful tribe
turning a king’s providence into a tomb
In this ginger-breadman existence
we think ourselves gods
changing things
breaking things
to live as kings
leaving costly crumbs wherever we go
Yet we are but bread for the birds
we are the baker and the baked
our deeds name us the sly fox
still we are running
running as fast and as far as we can
from these facts and our selves
And when our time upon this wheel is done
our sons into this chaos are born
they will mourn the authors of their demise
with a truth as sincere as a lie
While the air turns their gaze putrid
with the loss of everything green
they will become the perfect puppetier’s industrial dream
For we are none of us
the light beams we should have become
none of us it seems example what we were meant to become
beacons in a world with only so much sun
If by some small chance
you are a voice, dissident,
amidst the few
they will ask you
who you think you are
to find your own right
when everyone else
is left behind, tell them
Tell them your castle is made
of sand and air
you are a thing alone
fragile
breakable
exposed in this roofless forte
And that thing, that nameless thing
that started it all
it was us
it was us all along