In the stillness of dusk, a blackbird descended,
its feathers glistening with the weight of night.
Its eyes like embers, an alluring glow
it whispered into the dark.
pierced the man’s silence,
its voice a low hum, dark and familiar.
lies come to the blackbird as easy as breathing.
“Come,” it murmured,
“Leave the earth behind.
There is no peace in your toil,
no justice in your suffering.
I will give you wings,
a kingdom of wind and shadow,
a place where pain is swallowed whole.
You have no need for God,
I will make you King.”
The man’s breath faltered.
The promises settled into his chest,
their edges jagged, cutting through memory.
He thought of his failures,
the burdens he carried like stones in his soul.
The blackbird leaned closer,
its presence both suffocating and magnetic.
“I see you,” it said.
“Your wounds, your shame, your endless striving.
There is no need to fight anymore.
Come, and you will reign.”
But from within him rose another voice—
gentle, steady, like a stream over stone.
It spoke of a cross,
of blood spilled for love,
of a victory not born of power,
but of sacrifice.
The man turned his gaze to the blackbird,
its form now trembling,
its shadow unraveling in the growing light.
“I will not follow you,” he said,
his voice firm,
carrying the weight of a name
he could not deny.
The blackbird screeched,
its cry swallowed by the dawn.
into ashes it became, scattered by the wind.
The man stood,
the weight in his chest lifted.
The world stretched before him,
not free of suffering,
but full of purpose.
He walked forward,
toward the light that called him home.
All of us will hear the blackbirds song sometime in our life, and we have two choices, to join the ******, to fly on wings of wax with the blackbirds. Or we can choose Christ, and though we might no soar on Earth, our souls will soar on eagles wings forever more.