Soul Croaking

Birdsong in the soul.

Vulture croaks

Eating the flesh of happiness.

Nothing is right

In the soul of man

All is misplaced, wrong timed

To do harm.

Cold talons ripping the heart

Asunder in a tempest.

The evil curve tears against the background

Of people in forced friendship caught.

The bleak bright eye of the world

Stares gleefully out of the darkness,

Mocking the watcher into submission

And loneliness.