by George Freek

The sparrow builds her nest,
but the wren sleeps in it.
The world’s a nasty place,
even for the human race.
Stars fade on a bleak night,
Stars fade on a bleak night,
and December winds
nose through the streets
like hungry swine,
searching for scraps to eat.
The moon climbs the sky,
like a curtain on a play,
but the show is old and stale,
and the end is predetermined.
The stars go out one by one.
They’re already moribund.
I can only turn away.

Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing