Confessions of an Injured Bird

Confessions of an Injured Bird

With eyes closed
We see this injured bird,
Who cannot flap its wings
In pride.

How many more times
Will we hurt this
Beast?

Rip its feathers to build
our houses with it’s plumes
on top of it’s Pride.

Poison its respiration with
Air no lungs can breathe
Like it’s a monstrous
Thug.

Ironic isn’t it,
Our treatmeant towards
Birds?

It gave to us a gift
We cannot recreate nor return:
Our own breath.

This bird that flies
Free through crepuscular
Crows,
Leader of the flock
That revolves around the mighty
Phoenix.

It could fly perfectly
With no tumor to slow it
But its job is to take care of these
Galling fleas.

No more will it fly
Prideful...

There's no pride
In being
Caged
By strangers;
Strangers born
From its own
Eggs.

No more will it fly
Prideful...