Selected Poems
Siren
When we were younger when sirens would sound, ignorant
we'd simply cross ourselves and pray for the less fortunate.
Now, we cringe at the warning. We fear, knowing
what had happened before, could happen again.
We stand, anchored to the ground. Fate plucks flight's feathers
from our wings, weaves our greatest loss into suffering's crown.
Lashed to the mast, we wait, expecting to crash into the shore.
Chance does not choose us. The crisis fades away, this time.
we'd simply cross ourselves and pray for the less fortunate.
Now, we cringe at the warning. We fear, knowing
what had happened before, could happen again.
We stand, anchored to the ground. Fate plucks flight's feathers
from our wings, weaves our greatest loss into suffering's crown.
Lashed to the mast, we wait, expecting to crash into the shore.
Chance does not choose us. The crisis fades away, this time.
