Good Poetry

One day, on the edge of utopia, you watched migratory birds cross the sky— unbordered, unguarded. Each year they return for only a handful of days. This time they arrived carried on a wave of poetry. Poetry start to fly, became a bird among birds, flying in shared rhythm through heaven. Suddenly day folded into night. Utopia slipped into dystopia. you could not tell Nightmare from reality. Before you vanished with the flock, before they passed from sight into grey horizon, you wrote a red poem. Every station in the world read it.