Crafty Pigeon

Becoming nameless Skies of clouds Rip across Countless skies Estranges heaven Smears and mars in Black and white streaks What moves below Are fast ants Taking the time To notice Something slow For it holds Hearts With a face pulled Like a pigeon's Wise and stupid In the shape of A female's arse Perfect feet Strong legs The correct taste A good verse Sweet music A fitting aroma And soft caress Captivate you Stealing freedom What do you choose That your genes Do not dictate? Obey your design Or deny it To liberate yourself Pleasure or pain? But these are words Of wisdom Enjoy it While you can For everything Has its time And place But then again Who gets to enjoy it When it is not Your choice And you simply Switch modes Like lanes? And so I wonder about The chef The writer The musician The woman Who enjoys them And you Because it is all about Choices And they tell you That you must They give you Imperatives Simply being isn't enough But then eerily The pigeon smiles Although it is not Supposed to But it does Because its cage Is flung open Not to be brainless But to be aware Of self-discipline Playing the given Temple body Like a true master In his craft

CuldeSac

What are words without understanding and what is understanding without sense?

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