Tell me about the rain
and about weightless feathers.
Tell me about bullets
and crimson earth.
Bridges are burnt
with the tears of our future,
but we are told
that we don’t understand.
What is right.
Who is good.
Who is evil.
What is wrong.
We don’t understand
because we are young.
They sprinkle sand in our eyes.
Until we weep like willows
But we refuse to be blind.
They keep telling me
about the rain,
about the weight
of invisible feathers,
while the earth
is robbed bare
beneath our feet.
reflections of an unquiet mind 