War has Come

The skies were once filled with graceful flocks,
cruising the afternoon sun.
Encrusted into their feathers was hope and peace
that truly glistened on the darkest of days.

But now their luminant shine is discernible
against the blanket of war that smothers this land.
Nevertheless, the fresh paint of the enemies’ aircrafts still glisten in this dark time.
They scavenge, great and proud,
now that war has come.

The sky once sang a song of hope.
Splashes of sapphire stretched across the horizon
as birds ruled above us all mocking the common fowl.
But now it rumbles in anger
behind a murky grey barricade.

So now that my birds are jets,
I know that if I were to forage in this bitter land
I would not find abandoned crests nested in the soil,
but broken men
now that war has come.