Powdery wings upon the ground

Words fluttering wildly into the night
Lost in assumption, a precarious flight
Well honed words slashing like weapons of war
Flitting through tangled brush never to soar
Hopping about branches like frightened sparrows
Let fly without aim, your barbed point arrows
Another fluttering moth falling prey to a bat
Nothing like the play between mouse and housecat
Short lived flight, quick passionate thrill
Inspiration enough to move the quill
From mind to mouth onto pages, words leap
Never heard by those far away and fast asleep
Neither heard, scented or seen by the watchful hound
Powdery wings slowly falling to the ground
Words misread, a bad morning’s seething mind
Swiftly assuming them to be detrimentally unkind
More metaphoric rinds for you to carefully peel
Not too hard upon paper so as to foul the quill
Scabbard tapping threats playing upon fear
Strike at the nerve with your barbed spear
Never venturing very far above the forest floor
Well concealed by shadows, yet never able to soar
Brandishing spears at another day’s ending
Another savage night of attacking and defending
Never a thought of soaring high, wild and free
While jabbing in darkness at what you can’t see
Beautiful words penned atop a lofty ridge
Or contemptuous prose from under a bridge
Poetry hunting on the wing without a sound
Powdery wings bitten off fall to the ground
The butterfly and moth, where ever they’re at
Always easy prey for both kestrel and bat
Never to disturb any high roosting birds
With too many loud and un-thoughtful words
Blinded by hate and filled with fright
Jab your barbed spears into the night
Hopelessly lost in the dark, what can you do ?
A feeble attempt to bag what’s hunting you
The next day all that could be found
Were the powdery wings upon the ground