The Coward Among Us
As the cuckoo curled up quiet,
dwelling within the nest with fright,
an eagle soared above the land
with a pigeon grasped in its taloned hand.
a prey, the pigeon looked on with despair,
as the eagle flew off in the air,
the cuckoo, safe but shaken.
The cuckoo, tucked in the nest of old,
realized the lesson that was bold:
the pigeons, with their fear-filled flight,
escaped the big cat’s hunt one night.
In that moment, a truth was seen,
a coward’s selfish escape for safety,
in the aves class became a tale of futility,
the pigeons faced the cat’s sharp charge,
and as the colors of spring came bright,
the memory of that frightful night,
remained within the cuckoo’s mind,
a vivid picture, clear and defined.
In the aftermath of the brutal cat attack,
the birds who remained fought back.
With great valor, they defended their home,
despite the fear that was sown.
But not the pigeons, who fled in fright,
with no regard for what was right,
they left the birds behind, it’s true,
disappearing, shameful, in their hasty hue.
Some birds returned, to check their young,
while the pigeons, their legacy among,
the avian society, a sight most foul,
cowards to the core, who did not endow.
Oh, how I loathe the cowardly blight,
Those who hide away from their plight.
Their fear, their lack of heart,
Worse than that of a coward pigeon apart.
Bloodless, heartless, without care,
Living their kind in their flight of fear.
In the dark hours, they’re willing to flee,
Cowards who have no courage to be.
Mute, they refuse to speak their mind,
Problems unsolved, they’re blind.
Cowards never fix the things they see,
A trait that makes me seethe.
Oh, how these cowards blabber so,
Problems, they love to talk, but lo!
They refuse to seek out solutions,
Instead, embracing their delusions.
Their narcissism they embrace,
The imbeciles, they won’t replace.
Among all, they’re the most stupid,
Cowards remain empty, vapid.
Fake blood runs through their veins,
Talk like cans of emptiness remains.
Fear they praise, failure, they crown,
Shameful and ugly, they are found,
revolting, vile, worse than the pigeons.
This is a narrative poem of lamentations, a creative expression of blighted hopes and frustrations. Through the symbolisms of a cuckoo and an eagle, the unspoken grievances and passive objections towards indecisive events find their new vessels.
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