Oh Father!

Oh Father!

I'm not fond of pigeons
Dumb, gray birds
Circling around in flocks
Eating and dirtying all day long

And the people too
As they see in themselves
Superheroes of pedigree
Nurturing the innocent

For the birds care no less
Dirtying all they find
All that could be beautiful
And statues, of you, Father

You, who taught of love
For these innocents
The innocents who flock
Move in masses, unaware

Consuming, destroying all ahead
And here we pick up arms
Rest our aims on these
Innocents, as you called them

Or unworthy, as I call them
But then no trigger is pulled
You've bound our hands
Your silent oath reverberates

Oh Father, I shun the hate
And turn away, cleanse
To make this a better place
Me, with my fellow ravens

-x-x-x-

© Parched For Rain

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