the little bird said
the little bird one-foot hopping
in my head
don't live your life
at the point of
terminal velocity
because
you'll meet The Terminus
so determined to end is He,
sometimes,
He's not a very nice guy
He lives either above or below
or lurking behind
a shadow
or a bat-owl gliding in the sky
He is
The Determiner, The Abacus, The C.P.A.,
The Forever Eternal Spy
He doesn't care much for your reasons
your good name
your poetry
your excuses
and why you fly
He likes little birds
He crushes them to make His wine
His bread
His pie
The Terminus
is no Exodus
He decides how, who and when
the final circumstances for the end
and we'll never know until
He whispers into the wind
"Little Birdies,
all mine,
time to go..."
legal copyright for this poem and also for this write
Melissa A Howells and also for this legally copyrighted
site title Meloo Straight From Her Tilt-a-World
time/date stamped 10:01 AM PST June 20, 2019...I woke up with the first several
lines of this in my head and then felt compelled to write the rest.
