Bitter Fingers Poem by Cee Bea

the lines that travel through
winding,
hallowed halls of remembrance
that once lead to friendly spaces, have now
Become rooms of rust.  Feathers
portray the sunshine as it follows me
and a heart that has no constant
beat, still does

how many I wonder, how many
would be so daring, so foolish
so stupid as to believe in promises
pronounced by specters…. that crows
bring dark, and hawks bring gain,

that the poetry of shattered hope
is little more than mirrors
that portray and betray
the carnage of life
Left on every roadside.

It is me
and
 my Kittinger leap
into the cusp of supersonic