Matt

Like a wounded bird
He sang a wounded song
And never found a chorus
That let him sing along.
He didn’t fit a pattern,
Never could conform,
And never found safe passage
Through his life’s prolific storms

I wonder if he had to die
To finally be free
Or was in truth a victim
Of a failed society
Did all the rules and rights deny
This wounded bird the chance to fly

His only vision freedom
But could he comprehend
How pursuing it that morning
Would lead to such a tragic end?
Perhaps we have to change
To save
More wounded birds from early graves

Written by Matt’s Grandma,
Margaret Salomons, May 28, 2012