The powerful mass of sunshine nervously and cautiously makes another attempt to sneak through the windows of the active volcano,
Where innocent birds are oblivious to the weekly eruptions of flame and fire they ignite by inhaling and exhaling.
The peaceful rhythm from her own creations hammers the ears and plunges arrows at the heart of the maternal monster.
The sound of silence becomes louder and stronger.
A firing squad in a library is more soothing to her ears.
Until she roars, stomps, growls and hurls rocks of accusations to her loving prey for inventing such harsh music.
The young dove flutter to their familiar corners,
fully aware of their mistake,
anticipating their punishment for drifting into the forbidden land of tranquility,
While their nest is in shambles-one twig is out of place.
The sun creeps away,
Hunched over, it casts a shadow of shame on the flightless birds.
Another Saturday is lost to explore the rumors whispered among the butterflies next door of a place called freedom.