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.