Lines messy, scribbled on a small paper,
The words coming together making a paper crane
flying in range of a heart in the midst of a war.
The last note sounds like an old record,
The one we danced to with laughter
Transmuting the dust we let build on the fireplaces fold
Every wave in the air is in sync somewhere,
A counterbalance for a fault I wrote before you knew.
I wonder if you heard it in the choir,
Would the body convey it right?
All thats left is the blood of power rangers.
Cover your ears,
cries ring over birds songs in the early morning,
I never had to fight to hear their melodies,
I always thought hearing them was a gift,
I learned to listen without rules.
Take me back before I fell,
I’ll watch the birds flit between buildings
Flirting with the flap of wings,
Their songs remind me of something I’ve read in the sunset,
Red and yellow lines
a mixing of peace and destruction.