Sunrise Birds

Welcome to the great new world of the internet. Where miserable idiots reading poetry get instant gratification by googling the word "poem" and clicking on the first thing that pops up.

If you want to experience poetry as it's meant to be experienced, go to the fucking library. Or a bookstore. Or, better yet, go to a poetry slam.

Go to a place where poetry comes alive and stabs you in the jugular.

You won't find that here, you miserable moron. This is a place for naught the art of what art is nigh. This is a place for the assholes. The idiots. The morons. The gits. The buffoons. The sods.

This is where you all shall find happiness. I love you. You're like baby birds back in the nest, surviving off of the scraps of my regurgitation. And so fourth, I shall vomit this utterly useless poem into your mouth. Enjoy it my birdlings:


The sunrise birds are out, you say?
The sunrise birds are out, today.
Time to start a beautiful day!

Rattled from my bunk,
rattled from my slumber.
First Sergeant's on the horn -
shouting of his hunger.

Hot chow isn't on the menu.

The singing birds are out again.
This time, they sing of pain -
was this whole long day in vain?

I guess I'll have to wait and see -

and die another day.