without any help of the wind
propelled by disguised low motives
(and ‘how’ was nobody's thought)
little flying engines that once could
captured the blue heights, though
they didn't see the coming clouds
and the skies were soon filled with cotton
softly and subtly stopping any move
until rusty myths became their only glory crowns
one wholly superior raven once
claimed her world dominance
by the volume of her proclamations
and by reducing words to syllables,
chuckles, calls and wing flaps
until all speech turned into oodles of flight calls
pterodactyls in fashionable hunting wear
kept shooting at bats for lack of better interest
passion gone, who's to tell
what hour a sentence will be spoken
against their safety net of stereotypes and masks
and all will dissolve in sour 'do as you must'
a highly hollowed crane, every now and then
dove down to the street level
to shoplift some milk chocolate
which stimulates melody out of her dry throat
which shows the omnipresent pigeons
and unpredictable common sparrows
her majesty
in spite of her stiff neck
and neverending ringing in her ears
and high up there, above all that,
there was God, remember him?
you'd think he never knew or didn't care
about the murder of crows
and how mysteriously relevant they were
to the perversion of thoughts
occurring down in human world
layers of missed light below heaven
where the goddess of sharp beaks is defeated
by rightfully debilitating clouds
thus the sentence was spoken
propelled by disguised low motives
(and ‘how’ was nobody's thought)
little flying engines that once could
captured the blue heights, though
they didn't see the coming clouds
and the skies were soon filled with cotton
softly and subtly stopping any move
until rusty myths became their only glory crowns
one wholly superior raven once
claimed her world dominance
by the volume of her proclamations
and by reducing words to syllables,
chuckles, calls and wing flaps
until all speech turned into oodles of flight calls
pterodactyls in fashionable hunting wear
kept shooting at bats for lack of better interest
passion gone, who's to tell
what hour a sentence will be spoken
against their safety net of stereotypes and masks
and all will dissolve in sour 'do as you must'
a highly hollowed crane, every now and then
dove down to the street level
to shoplift some milk chocolate
which stimulates melody out of her dry throat
which shows the omnipresent pigeons
and unpredictable common sparrows
her majesty
in spite of her stiff neck
and neverending ringing in her ears
and high up there, above all that,
there was God, remember him?
you'd think he never knew or didn't care
about the murder of crows
and how mysteriously relevant they were
to the perversion of thoughts
occurring down in human world
layers of missed light below heaven
where the goddess of sharp beaks is defeated
by rightfully debilitating clouds
thus the sentence was spoken
