Ode To A Sea Duck Dying.

 

Fluffy white feathers

preened daily,


water resistant and

once lovely to behold,


beak agape at the horror

of its flightless

marathon in black


as it toils in the oils,

of the spoils of man.


Just another ordinary

dive for a plump fish,
suddenly a lump of living coal.


Eyes blurred beyond

any ability to see predators,


wings mired, a crippled

land creature now,
reeking of a scent

too noxious to breathe,
far from the water

lest it mirror its plight.


Mere days from dying

in the baking sun, 

soon to become

rigid, and squat
as a tragic twenty-first

century monument
to all the cars that

slow down to gape as

they drive by,

powered by the essence

of what has slain.


A black spot marring

the sands of grime,


a cancer palpable

on the shores

of what is homeland

no more.

 

 

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poetlorraine 7 years ago

wow some deep verses on here of late, well written

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