Unnatural (a poem) - [2009]

Unnatural

I perch here on this blackened branch,

the ashen limb,
where lightning struck and split apart
the bark and branded it black death.

Perhaps I shall make a nest here for my young.

Beneath the outstretched fingers of this
decaying bough,
lies a corpse, its eyes wide open,
all hope and vacant, clear, white canvas.

They have already picked the fear from them.

I could pick the bones, leaving
only memories
and the bullet still lodged in its skull.
It is only natural after all.

But I cannot feed the bullet to my young.