Vultures

The vultures were hunted down

No one left to clean up the dead

Bodies filled the ground

Blood hasn’t dried yet

No one left to grieve

To pray

Or to mend

The heart that was broken

Right before the end

The Girl

The little girl

Grew up to be

A little strange

Hungry for change

And for new places to see

The little girl drew her own maps

Wrote her own books

Created her own reality

The little girl hated their sanity

And the boredom it brought

She often thought

If it has been done before

No need to do once more

And so she carved a brand new world

Changes

She missed the smell

Of the slightly rotten wood

Covered by the scent of cinnamon

Freshly baked bread

And warm coffee

She missed the morning mist

And the days she felt lonely

As this new home

Carried a new smell

The fresh paint

Had no story to tell

He smiled and assured her

We’ll make it our own

With our son on the way

You’ll never been alone

Stranger

She wandered

Looking for happiness

Thirsting for a smile

In a desert of her own creation

Every inch felt like a mile

She lost her way

Hoping to find herself

The familiar stranger

She lost on a shelf

Too high to reach

Too dusty to see

Her own reflection

She sighed:

Oh how I miss me

True Power

I find pieces

Among the ashes that were left

Too small to truly tell

But I knew it’s where I sat

Gathering stories

Making believe

That I could escape

That I would leave

I find pieces familiar, yet strange

For I have wandered far

And with time

I grew to love change

I learned that without those pieces

I’m still whole

Shedding them off had failed

To make me feel small

The earth gives me power

And I, like you, little flower

Have learned to push the concrete aside

Have learned that I no longer need to hide

And I came to know my true power