The tree of which
Borne a wild hawk, which
In it’s youth grew strong
Now in old age, looks to
Inherit the earth it came from.
The hawk now turned to dust,
Maybe twenty years ago, the
Tree a wise friend who remembers
Him well. Never complained of
The lonely hours he could count.
Seems he is aching to be, like that
Hawk a man again. To crush the dung
Beetle that was the man that cut him
Down. Seems somehow karma’s justice
Will suffice, just enough.
Just like me. ‘o hawk in the night;
This world is a fright. It’s futile
To demand. Judged once and left aside.
When a man swears to avenge himself,
They all say that’s wrong. But when a
Man swears god will avenge him, it’s just.
Even when the mad man swears god will
Punish someone to excuse (verb) his glib excuse (noun),
‘oh how blind they have become.
Someday we will see again. That nature
Is just, that somehow it’s cosmic game,
Which throws luck out the window.
Is anywhere better than here?