Tears for what I hear
So much sadness exists within a bird’s song.
Do not get me wrong.
I can hear the whistles
that have all the sweetness of certain pistils.
What bothers me is that
no matter how much a bird tries,
it cannot change the tune of its winged tribe.
It could never compose
a song that no other bird knows.
Time shall tick on into another eon,
and descendants will be stuck
singing the same sonance.
Thankfully, mankind does not have to behave
like some chained slave.
If our myriad cultures trill about decisions
that seem unethical or immature,
we can take a detour
and devise a song score
no one has ever heard before.
Knowing this is true,
it makes me wonder about the similarities
between avians and mumpsimus* humans.
~~~
* mumpsimus – noun or adjective
1
: a bigoted adherent to exposed but customary error
2
: a custom or tenet adhered to by a mumpsimus
Cacti Fur 