Matthew Morgan Poems

I sail through the wind, full of anticipation and joy.
Landing with a thud, I do a somersault and crash on my back.
The dead sticks snap under me as the leaves grind in my mouth.
I roll over and run up the hill, my sneakers filling with loose gravel and sand as the leaves cascade around me, growing ever thinner and more spread out.
...

Sit in your light and sing to me little bird.
Sing of all the things in the world, right and wrong.
Chirp, Chirp, deceit in each sugar-coated word.
A ballad of battle a dangerous song.
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