04-22-2016, 02:01 AM
Remnants of the Chicken Little Manifesto, shared in secret
the monotony of scratch
and tap across
the weight of days
We eat, we lay,
we live, we die,
we never see
secrets of the edgeless
horizon, until
heaven breaks,
falls upon our head,
demands we look up,
and cross that road
They tell us,
the world
is a flat plate
to peck corn,
nothing more.
We peck
with heads lowered.
We must decrypt
this puzzle of sky.
The pieces streak
like chemtrails.
The ax is laid
to the stump,
and we must
peck outside
these wire fences.
The fox is beneath
the coop. Fantastic
though it seems.
Blue is a pond
draining.
and we must run.
the monotony of scratch
and tap across
the weight of days
We eat, we lay,
we live, we die,
we never see
secrets of the edgeless
horizon, until
heaven breaks,
falls upon our head,
demands we look up,
and cross that road
They tell us,
the world
is a flat plate
to peck corn,
nothing more.
We peck
with heads lowered.
We must decrypt
this puzzle of sky.
The pieces streak
like chemtrails.
The ax is laid
to the stump,
and we must
peck outside
these wire fences.
The fox is beneath
the coop. Fantastic
though it seems.
Blue is a pond
draining.
and we must run.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson