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The Swans
Gliding on a lake of doom
 Engulfed in the darkness
 Their feathers can’t illuminate
 Entwined by only whom
 They’re comfortable
 It is their fate.
 
 Dancing under a cobblestone bridge
 Impressing those who watch
 Gracefully hovering over
 The scattered moonlight
 And tar.
 
 The crowd sits and watches
 As two swans swiftly move
 Their eyes compliment the sparkles
 Of iridescent doom.
 
 A drunken man stands and shouts
 “Swans cannot dance!”
 So he raises the gun over his head
 But shoots himself
 Instead.
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