It wasn't a political poem to begin with.... but then wayyyy too many people thought it was. So I changed it...
Makes everything new. Still
not precise, exact, or perfect,
but the birds keep flying towards
a perfection that can never be reached.
They are tossed around by the strong gusts
Their wings pulled back, past feeling, past thought
Their wails are lost in the wind
Words are drowned out as though they were never said.
Their leader does not care for what they feel
For the wind has not cleared his head
of the noxious fumes.
Nor has it fixed his morals.
They are aware of better days,
Or at least that is what they hope.
No longer do they care about today,
Rather, they focus on tomorrow.
The peace that had once been found on earth
Has gone away, carried
on the doting back of the wind.
It carries more than it knows.
Not only their screeching,
their shouts and their wails
But mine as well,
Losing the fight, wanting peace.
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