The birds fill their lungs
with envy for the bells.
The gentle and stale ringing -
stealing away the whispers of the morning,
cracking the silence with false and corroded songs.
Disarming the melodies they’ve waited their whole lives to sing.
They perch like polite rivals -
Heads buried inside of their feathers -
praying to the miles stored within their wings -
the sun will someday know the truth
about the war waged for morning glory hymns.
Poem born from: similar sounds ringing from far away