I watch in retrospective lens
Piercing through the dense smoke,
Certain dramatic objects evoke
Certain vivid memories of the past.

Bitter made to feel sweet;
Fallen feather or intentionally plucked,
Nobody noticed, no one ever 
Was curious enough to know.

A keen-sighted bird watches a
Wrong touch made to feel right,
Does the sun have an account
Of the happenings of the night?

Blunders marked by a bright light;
A complete whitewash of emotions 
As a blackbird sits on the porch 
Peering at the harshness of the torch.