On The Windowsill
All the banging so much noise,
What are we building of toil?
Is butter softer than the heart of love?
Can sugar sweeten already made honey?
When bees toil,
Is the buzz noisy?
A box of dreams sits on the windowsill
All this noise the banging never stops,
The blood of innocents cling to greed;
The soil and sea cry out do you hear,
Through all the banging?
Useless or wasteful still noise;
Drowning out real beauty real joy,
Loudest is the stressed-out heart,
The fake meanderings of toil.
A box of dreams sits on the windowsill
It is that time of beginnings,
The whistles and songs of birds
Sound out of transitioning,
A sky inky will streak of silver,
Then turn to pale azure,
Gilt with sunlight.
A box of dreams sits on the windowsill
On The Windowsill - A Bop poem © gillena cox 2024
