untitled poem

At the request of Neugeski One, here's something from around Dec 22, 2007. IIRC I had been reading Ishmael Beah's A Long Way Gone around then. Definitely more visual than spoken, and could use some work.

watching children die
     and then kill
maybe now I understand my parents
     even less
is this the road home
                     ?
like feathers
   falling to the floor
we flit away when hands draw near
   then resume our dreary fear-laced
                                   descent;
hands
might             oil
care,          about
or might care only
surrender, stupid or beautiful,
                  lies or lies naked
before shame