What is...

Is a bird
what is

long
after its wings
have outlived their gift?

I think
it's very much so still
there's not much of any telling,

just the quiet heavy is...

Is the sun doing anything much
different today?
Or just is?

It's only the me looking.
From here.

The hell of perception;
all the magnificent and damned,
a judgement all the same.

We let be what we like
whether that's a great plural
or neat handful.

I've seen a least a shit or two go to hell
And come back burned,
So I'll take a plenty.

And hope.

Through letting all eyes
Have their sight
And being

Hope

That more
is surely
to survive
and flourish

though any
big bad wind,
flame,
or asshole
with an army
metal wing and all.

And even that asshole
Should see what mountain it is
To hold any down and any up
Than just an all helps all

Long after
The wings are worn
We need an all us
That can survive mirrors
And history books that victors write