Views of a Monk Parakeet

You know I've often deemed this world as being
a huge trash bin, where you can cast off your withering
feathers, fling the rinds of your thickened dreams
and aging egos,

Where you keep on searching for elusive trinkets
that may tantalize you, coerce you to believe that life is not
an impalpable mess in its entirety,

This is the home of some rare-breed hardcore optimists
who treasure their almanacs, their most precious smiles
which they believe could bring enlightenment.

I remember an earthquake when everything shuddered,
when frantic calls intensified to a deafening roar, when a voice
yelled out amidst the chaos: "God! This must be an Apocalypse!"

And when night turned to dawn the rubble became visible -
but who am I to comment on behalf of an 'intelligent race',
I'm just happy casting off my withering feathers.