What Have We Left Behind?

How many bluejays have we already slaughtered, feathered wings 

Beating uselessly against nets woven with daisies and other white lies 

Struggling against lifeless symbols of what used to be. What has become of our drunken sleep? 

Even the branches have tried to wither in the face of the bloody dawn. 

We used to paint the sky with golden bells that only rang louder in the face of defeat, 

But now all that’s left are faded shells of empty metal – I've tried to break the flower chains. 

Even glass beads cannot stand strong; rainbows don’t always mean hope; 

Sometimes crying through a smile is the only way to move forward. Again, we try to sing tunes 

Designed only for flying through crumbling stone-cold mountains.