Friday, July 6, 2007


The silent fingers reaching
Gulls look on in wonder
People like gulls rest on the fringes
Awaiting their daily plunder
Nobody takes much notice
I feed them bits of bread
Shreiking and groaning
Sounding like they mourn for the dead
It doesn't matter-it's never enough
Dare you call the seagull's bluff
Acting as though their hearts were pierced
Their shrill cries in the air
Every scrap belongs to them
Not intending to share
A hundred seeds are on the ground
Yet they fight over one
Going from one seed to another
Until they seem to be done
Next time I go through town on the train
I will stop by once again
To feed them bread and give them seeds
To listen to them strain against their peers
As I see their false tears
Drop like utter pain
In teardrops like the rain

© 2007 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved

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