Mourning Dove

Mourning Dove (a poem)

I can sing the mourning dove's song,
Say you are right, when you're not,
I play pretend well, pursuit of my quest,
Deference lies, painful, inside my chest.

I climb atop mountains, when I'm alone,
Sing into deaf winds, release storms borne,
Swear bloody oaths, awaiting Jesus,
Fall upon swords, taste of self treason.

I will do what makes you feel best,
Shine the crown, adorn your crest,
Swathe you in blue satin, oh, majestic one,
Flattery belies fact, honored without reason.

Sing with me, a mourning dove song,
Sing, won't you sing, sing along,
In the red parlor, axe bladed for heads,
Fight, run, comply, each bring a different death.


–Joan Wiley

Copyright 2021 Joan Wiley

Published by Wayward Writer

American Author, Entrepreneur, and Free-Thinker.

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