Soaring sailors of the sky,
they float on feathers and fly free,
unbounded by the earth below,
majestic lords of all they see

They watch and wait for us to die
these graceful birds that swarm the sky.
They come to prove that life’s a lie
and they’re “The Truth Be Told.”

Up-close ugly. Soaring grace.
So much like the human race,
touched by God and still part base.
Creation’s mystery.

They gather in trees at night to roost,
encamped out like some enemy’s troops
awaiting light when they will swoop
down from a dawn of gold.

Scavengers not birds of prey.
“Disgusting” is what people say.
Yet, in the end they have their way
when we are weak and old.

Thus serving to remind us all;
We are but victims of the fall
and subject to the trumpet’s call
that comes at end of day.

Up-close ugly. Soaring grace.
So much like the human race,
touched by God and still part base
Creation’s mystery

© 2006 James Keenan, All rights reserved.