The emptiness of the Hawk’s heart
Must allow it to soar higher.
A silhouette cut from grey sky
Glides above a
Murky parking lot
This cold morn.
A flock of gulls,
Weighed down by
The multitude,
Flail and squawk without grace.
The hawk floats above the noise.
Alone.
In the distance black trees reach,
Strain their roots, and
Bend away from this cold earth.
Branches raised
In a vain optimism
That life will change.
The world of life has been
Left behind.
The hawk has had enough.
He lifts, beats the damp air,
And rises.
Alone.
Beautiful.
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Thank you.
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