When I left my bed and snuck outside, the wind was firm and cold
And paper birds swirled about my face and flew through times untold
Papered wings and papered backs and their papered beaks so quiet
That I wished only to touch them, though I did not dare try it
Then I had wondered quite distinctly whether it might not be
Merely a dream I was dreaming, but a truth that I should see
Though the strangeness was so prevalent, l could not help but feel
This was indeed reality, for the wind was hard as steel
Because in these wondering moments, when my mind had wandered far
The storm had grown to such degree I could scarcely see a star
But the birds still swished so silently around my ghostly face
It seemed they had no place to go except their old paths retrace
Again, again, and again they swooped until they pierced my skin
Yet no blood appeared about me, but rather, deep and sharp within
My anguish seemed frivolous, although the pain suffused each limb
The birds cared not for what I felt, each black eye so bleak and grim
Full of hatred, full of loathing, full of useless, pointless wrath
Their lipless smiles split their faces, they could not help but laugh
Deep within their feathered beings was the goal of my demise
Did I commit some act against them, I could not but surmise
Or had they come to carry out the justice of another?
Only of this thought I was sure, it was my fault and no other
Yet my memory did fail me as my mind was fogged with pain
What had been hopes and loves and loyalties struggled to remain
Is this where I shall end because of some dark and baseless rage?
Or ‘ever I be interred within this dark and feathered cage?
No reason could I fathom, although their purpose seemed quite clear
Was this torture they had wrought nothing more than my baseless fear?
Was this paper nothing but a mere creation of my mind?
As I carefully examined each small fold I could at no point find
Anything much more substantial than a darkly scoffing smoke
A mist that swirled all ‘round my face until I could naught but choke
My throat I grasped with my bloodied hands, each wound so small yet real
Each mark to forever haunt me — such a small though stubborn seal.
Jun 21, 2025
Jun 21, 2025 at 11:59 PM UTC
When I left my bed and snuck outside, the wind was firm and cold
And paper birds swirled about my face and flew through times untold
Papered wings and papered backs and their papered beaks so quiet
That I wished only to touch them, though I did not dare try it
Then I had wondered quite distinctly whether it might not be
Merely a dream I was dreaming, but a truth that I should see
Though the strangeness was so prevalent, l could not help but feel
This was indeed reality, for the wind was hard as steel
Because in these wondering moments, when my mind had wandered far
The storm had grown to such degree I could scarcely see a star
But the birds still swished so silently around my ghostly face
It seemed they had no place to go except their old paths retrace
Again, again, and again they swooped until they pierced my skin
Yet no blood appeared about me, but rather, deep and sharp within
My anguish seemed frivolous, although the pain suffused each limb
The birds cared not for what I felt, each black eye so bleak and grim
Full of hatred, full of loathing, full of useless, pointless wrath
Their lipless smiles split their faces, they could not help but laugh
Deep within their feathered beings was the goal of my demise
Did I commit some act against them, I could not but surmise
Or had they come to carry out the justice of another?
Only of this thought I was sure, it was my fault and no other
Yet my memory did fail me as my mind was fogged with pain
What had been hopes and loves and loyalties struggled to remain
Is this where I shall end because of some dark and baseless rage?
Or ‘ever I be interred within this dark and feathered cage?
No reason could I fathom, although their purpose seemed quite clear
Was this torture they had wrought nothing more than my baseless fear?
Was this paper nothing but a mere creation of my mind?
As I carefully examined each small fold I could at no point find
Anything much more substantial than a darkly scoffing smoke
A mist that swirled all ‘round my face until I could naught but choke
My throat I grasped with my bloodied hands, each wound so small yet real
Each mark to forever haunt me — such a small though stubborn seal.
Sorry, friends. I know it’s been a while. I’ve been working through a lot of stuff. This one is in a very rough form, so any advice on how to improve it to make it flow more smoothly would be appreciated. I’m looking for rearrangement of phrasing and meter. The meter is mess and I would like it if it flowed somewhat smoothly.