No feeling.
Forgetfulness
No memories...
Or, good ones, at least.
The dove glides
Soars upwards
Then
Suddenly
It falls
Crumpled
It hurtles downwards
Spinning
Dead.
I wish, almost, that I was
At least...
Sometimes I do;
Then I'd be free
Like the dove.
It hits the sodden grass
There is a dull thud
To signal it's end
Or, is it a beginning?
I look up.
Once again it soars...
Free.
