All Are Alive

So many dismal distractions,
Hiss in the world.

The blood flows,
And insanity's wings flap.

I feel the polluted air waver my scruffy shadow,
Down to the inelegant pavement.

The stains are stuck,
Petrified by the weather.

A parasite caws,
Camouflaged in the night.

Its sleek form,
Is recognizable,
By the moonlight.

Shoot the bird before its virginal talons function,
And redden the bottom of its nails,
Upon man's most sensitive spots.

Shoot it before its cuticles taste blood,
Though its eyes are not yet predatory.

For the birds have that unkilled youth,
That glints uncertainly,
From the hopeless optimist's,
Watery irises.

All are alive,
And expecting promise.

All are alive,
And aging wrongly.

I wait for the tears to arise,
But the unfeeling,
Are cursed with inhumanity,
And so I toast to the awful future,
With doubtful optimism.