Feathers

How the feathers of life get thrashed in the hands of inhumanity

Nobody knows how she felt
That day, the white feathered bird

Traveling from the north
With her wings soaring high

Until they cut down her feathers
With their sword of inhumanity

In silence, she cried out,
Hoping they might listen to

The sound of her tears falling,
But alas! poor bird

She did not know,
The place she was traveling

No longer belonged to her
Not even the wind

That once played with her
And carried her like a child