Small Wingless Creatures

We come into this world small wingless creatures,
and someone washes us of our mother's blood,
we cry out
and open our lungs to breathe
and somehow a tiny fist is large enough
to hold fast a parent's heart,
strong enough to form loose bonds
that will tear apart mind and body,
wrest a spirit from a soul,
and life is lived
in the loam of earth
on the broken back of selfish dreams

a dreamer must awaken before
the mouth is frozen in silence

and the blood dries with the spittle
and the days are counted in stone.