In The Sky Above

In the sky above, red birds drift.
Our hands to the air, birds ignore our trifts.
You step on my wounds, I fake feeling fine.
Love heals no wounds or maybe not this time.
Blood-red tears in face, I treasure as gifts.
 
The summer-hot wind blows and lifts
a despair of urgently lovestruck gifts.
Wings flocked together, they curl and twine
in the sky above.
 
Then, with a gust, the weather shifts,
killing those foolishly lovestruck trifts.
I hoped in vain a story like mine
could end in love, not a sky entwined.
Bloody feathers streak down cloud cliffs
in the sky above.


PAR