A hazel feather in the gusty wind,
floats down to rest upon my shoulder,
And wishes to speak to me, of destruction.
I ask him what it is that he knows,
about human tendencies and egos,
those that ultimately lead, to destruction.
I ask him why is it that everyone throws,
what ever they have right out of the window,
and then they all complain of destruction.
Why is it that lies and deceit,
brings good down to it's knees.
And leaves in it's wake, destruction.
Mutely the feather floats away as it must,
spurred on by the powerful gust,
And leaves me mulling about destruction.
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