A mix of red and black feathers dance in the wind
Twisting and turning in the wind
Falling from the wings
Sun setting in the distant
His head hung
He leans a ****** back on a tree
The wing torn from his back still bleeding
Four of them lay on the ground thrown about in a rage
The air turns cold as the moon rises
The night air filling his lungs
The blood now dry
His flesh pale
New wings growing now
An endless cycle of forever renewal