Out on the green
where the wind
whips and whirls,
swoop gleaming swallows
that flit,
flap, and twirl.
Round and round
each passerby,
their wings flashing
a blue so bright,
their tails shear
feather forks.
You’d think each strolling person
would stop to gawk
at their vibrant show,
but no,
the people keep
on moving forward.
Cerulean crescents
descended from heaven
to grace each pedestrian,
yet where there should be awe,
there is
only apathy.
What’s gone so wrong
that they can walk
through a swallow swirl
and feel
absolutely
nothing?
pm poetry 