Once upon a time there was a group of birds
They had traditions and very strict rules
They all lived in a tree and never left it
Because if one flew away, they would be seen as a freak

There was one little bird
At first he seemed to be like the others
But in reality, he had a dream
He wanted to escape the tree

He told his mommy about it but she scolded him,
Saying he should stay here as this is as it's supposed to be.
The little bird got sad but had to obey the rules
Over time he got older

The other birds liked him a lot
But one day he declared that he's leaving and no one can stop him.
In that moment, the birds forgot about his good qualities, talents
And started hating him

The little bird started to get bullied
Mocked
He just wanted to dissapear
He regretted his words

Months passed and it was time,
The day he was supposed to fly away
But the little bird wasn't there to experience his new found freedom
The other birds pushed him over the edge way too soon.

She rustles her feathers, fluttering as she twists and tethers.

Three white dots on her tail, wings with bravery that will never fail.

Perched on a high branch to hide from us below; is she really scared, or is it because it's all she know?

With chirps harmonically right, I wonder if they continue throughout the night

With black, beady eyes she views us all, wondering if it's an illusion when she stands tall

She was little once, like we all were. I wonder how much she's had to endure?

But now she is silent, gone, ran from fear, going anywhere to escape from here.

We humans have given her nothing but a scare. How, I wonder, how can this be fair?

A bird sat on a ledge, calling for air,
“Please, give me merely a share!”

A breeze came and lifted the bird off the ground
The breeze ruffling the bird’s feathers was the only sound

Every day, the bird decided to sit and wait
The bird was drawn to the wind, perhaps even fate

The wind always listened when the world did not
The bird had found something it had always sought

Then one day, dark clouds came and rain poured down
And the wind lunged forwards, without even a frown

At last, the bird saw the wind’s true power
The bird wanted to hide, but the wind didn’t let it cower

The wind ruffled the bird’s feathers as it had done in the past
The bird took off, flying ever so fast

Then the storm passed; the rain was gone
The bird looked at the sun from the ledge it was on

“Wind, let me once again soar!”
But the wind replied no more.

Creatures of
The night
Speaking only in
The language of
Wings in flight
Raucous caws and calls
Such stark delights
Their bird brains
A substance
To behold
They play and
They learn as
Ancient tales often told
They are symbols
Of fate and omens,
And "What's to be"
Guiding us along
Paths unknown
And simply unseen

From the wild wheat, split and well broken,
whereas nature shows her mercy to not sting
your feet; as these boundaries are meaningless
to wild creatures; as the wash of your fears is
mostly made of us leaving tear stains- waiting
for that harvest in a direction, we only know

Spit grain to a graze on a stone, hide all of your
dreams in a piece of melting snow- while the
earth is still steep, her every ocean so, so deep
As your footprints in her sand is just an empty
space; that recollection of those old skin shoes

I once thought ahead of all the questions hanging;
but answers are always so ahead of us- revelations,
above us all, oh, sweet Lord, I’m only but a small
bird, not much bigger than a person’s thought-
I don’t really soar most days, but push myself to
at least float; as the hardships of life have taught
me how to live, but haven’t taught me to fly

what is it like,
to be the worm in the mouth of the bird?
what is it like to know it was meant to happen?
to be eaten whole,
nothing left behind.
i ooze, to feed your stomach
i ooze for a reason
it's not for nothing
the worm cannot be hurt when, even in the claws of death, the bird tells them it was right
it was supposed to happen this way:
never in any other
even while eaten in pieces
even
while sliding down the birds throat
even while knowing it's meant to be this way,
the worm must endure hearing the most painful thing of all
straight from the birds beak,
"i don't regret what i've done."