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The Fly
A raving dervish,
the fly dances on it's back.
Trapped by water,
dying.
Grasping for skies once supped.
Can't get up.
Legs like oaks slam and wave
in the liquid grave.
Plastic wings squirm, trapped.
Broken parts snapped.
The dance is done.
The line severed.
All is bad.
The music sad.
I see the sky,
and my young hands.
I think a message home from these distant lands.
I remember love, here with my friends.
Love never ends.
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