You must die just like the others,
Who were filed and swept away.
Locked up tight in his mind of steel,
So smooth, stone cold, so sinful.
This Kingbird watches over his prey,
Praying for the time to be just right.
He’s perched like a priest at the altar,
Emphatically reaching
For those who no longer feel him
And chirping to those who can’t see him.

You must die just like the others,
For that’s what prompts him to be.
His blood runs cold, his tears are ice,
So evil, quite vile, so sinister.
His batteries were charged and started.
The off-switch is not to be built.
He moves like a racecar, so furious,
Swerving methodically,
When a red flag of morals implores him,
Causing a pit stop that bores him.

You must die just like the others,
Unless this Kingbird comes to a rest.
He’s been flying too long through a fog
So dense, unforgiving, so grueling.
He’s in need of a permanent nest,
To fly from his blood-stained branch.
To forever close his wing-span of death.
Hunted hunter,
Being chased by those who deplore him,
And must die just like
The others before him.

raven wallpaper.png

If you liked this you should check out these other great poems, too!

The Passenger

Forgotten Life




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