A Mockingbird, It Isn'T

It isn’t much I’ve seen,
just a couple sunsets
in the great grand
scheme of things.
Tonight I ask
where has the moon
gone off too.

It isn’t much I’ve heard,
just a city writing songs
on cracked apartment buildings;
it’s metal bow and streets of violins.
Tonight I ask
why have the birds
not returned for spring.

It isn’t much I’ve felt,
not shame for anything I’ve done
not guilt for anything I’ve said.
It’s bitter cold outside
there is a mockingbird
at my window blowing smoke.

by Ben Paynter

Comments (4)

Nicely written! :) Keep writing!
I would have given this poem a 7, if it had been written by someone else. But, I gave it a 9 for you. You are a superior talent. It doesn't always appear, and frankly it can't, in a poem as vague as this one. The reader doesn't know this, and perhaps they never will. But I do, and therefore I have to be honest to your ability. I'll read another. We'll see about it. GW62
Very poignant. You are in good poetic voice in this one. Praise for your talented pen. Warm regards, Sandra
ben, feeling it... Great stuff. keep on, sjg