in the madness that follows broken swallows
flightless birds whose wings are broken, a token
of this worlds cruelty, some likening to a novelty
a pass time of society gaining popularity not notoriety
flightless birds whose dreams no longer pure, one deems
a twisted distortion upon the frail who seek to prevail
an existence within decaying trees, a stench to rob the free
flightless birds whose song fades, for today is made
in the notion that a path is set, for those who lost a nest
and can no longer return home, death a persistent norm

out of depth they are, for flightless they became
out of one world and into another, all the same