Circles

She beats here wings

Hollow is the wind, empty and in shambles.

as the white dove can not fly from a land of kings.

As she Claws and cries, she crashes through the bramble.

As the sun does set in the sky She lays down to die.

As the sea does spin with anger so do her maggots 

Forever Fighting the banality of their lie.

Too close to grab it.