Wet Wings

Wet wings are drying

Someone should learn this scene

Ready hearts

Steady chatter

Listen as the cicada sings


The wind refuse to blow

While the laughter quietly leaves

Eaten by the eyes of the people

Peeling away a spirit at the seams


Break apart as it breaks the box

Not one of these souls hold to dreams

They instead claw at hope

Resting their woes inside of Keys

Poem: Keota Picou