Widows are of your prey, and may you rob the fatherless. ----------------------------------------------

When was the last time you let me salt your wounds Those wounds are now scars and you long for the sear ----------------------------------------------

Dear God, make me a bird, so I can fly; far, far, away. Id fly up to that highest branch and sing sweetly until he let me into his bedroom to peck at his glossy blackened eyes while he told me stories of when mother let him play out of doors. ----------------------------------------------

I pinned its wings to the ceiling, its decrepid beauty stretches the length of it whole. I've captured freedom's smallness. A reminder of the almighty's great fault ----------------------------------------------