Sitting and having coffee this morning
Having gotten up much too early, I was barely awake
Watching the swirling mist play atop a mountain lake
Wondering if this vista was only a dream
Then a red eyed vireo landed and began talking to me
This was quite enough to confirm why yes it had to be
Such experiences occur only while dreaming
She spoke of those who are easily manipulated
Living a lie while keeping up with all of the latest trends
A lifetime of paying interest on what the afterlife lends
Being prodded along from fodder to slaughter
Listening to a red eyed vireo at dawn by a mountain lake
Eyes open, sitting up, sipping coffee, but not fully awake
Then she softly told me of another type of bird
Purveyor of perspective and pathetic propaganda
Among fools, cattle and sheep it is viewed as quite a sage
To the wise it is naught but another parrot in a guilded cage
There is only one way to go once a soul has been sold
No doubt about it, this morning I visited a strange spirit realm
Having been here before, there was no senses to overwhelm
Nothing else for me to do but quietly sit and listen
It's Plumage and squawking so easily identified
Those cruel almost souless eyes betraying the sickness of greed
Feasting upon the foulest of bitter fruit and sowing a shitted seed
While masquerading as an owl, the wisest of birds
Never does it fly far from that tree and only sings a particular song
How it claims to be right while never able to fathom what is wrong
I quietly listened as one bird told me of another
Representative of the pastures, herders and dogs
The misguidance, barking, bellowing, bleating and mournful sighs
Trodden ground, stench of shit and clouds of hovering green flies
Minder of lackeys and livestock for the lords of the land
Living in a guilded cage, temporary rewards for selling it's soul away
Cows, sheep, mules and pachyderms it has been employeed to sway
With that said, the red eyed vireo bade me farewell
Sitting up, finishing my coffee later that morning
Now gazing into the thick shadowy forest instead of a mountain lake
No longer dreaming about that red eyed vireo as I was now fully awake
The wet tangled branches and dark boles, not of a dream
Only wrens, starlings, cawing crows, mourning doves, but no talking birds
Along came a hunting cooper's hawk, one always worthy of poetic words
Perched on a persimmon tree, it's keen eyes met mine
Red Eyed Vireo
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